


Hello My Old Heart

by ficmuse



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Accidental Pregnancy, Alternate Canon, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-04 06:14:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14013951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficmuse/pseuds/ficmuse
Summary: When Jughead Jones heads off to prison for a crime he didn't commit, his relationship with Betty Cooper comes to an abrupt end. After his release on parole nearly two years later, an unexpected turn of events leads their relationship in a new direction: parenthood.





	1. Welcome Home, Son

_We are not our parents, Betty._

_Prologue_

It was the first day of Jughead’s trial. Betty dressed carefully, wanting to appear appropriate and serious, but also pretty. Jughead hadn’t seen her since shortly after his arrest. He’d been in the county jail for four months, awaiting trial.

Jughead was innocent; Betty trusted that his lawyer would be able to bring him home. Every day without him had been so hard; she’d marked off each day on her calendar with a big red X, counting down until today. Today, she’d get her boyfriend back.

She was just grabbing her coat when there was a knock on her front door. It was Fred Andrews, wearing an ill-fitting suit and looking exhausted. “Betty.”

She smiled at him. “Hi, Mr. Andrews. I thought we were all meeting at the courthouse?”

Fred reached out and patted her shoulder. “Betty...Betty. Damn it.” He closed his eyes and sighed. “Damn it.”

Betty’s mother walked in, adjusting her earring. “Oh, Fred. I thought we were meeting at the courthouse?”

“There’s not going to be a trial today. Why don’t you put some coffee on, Alice?”

Alice frowned. “What do you mean, no trial?”

“Why don’t we all sit down in the kitchen and talk?” Fred suggested.

And so in the kitchen, while Betty sat at the familiar table she’d known all her life, Fred explained. “There was a surprise witness for the prosecution. I don’t know the details, but Jughead...lost hope. He decided to take the plea bargain that the DA had offered him.”

“That’s ridiculous,” said Alice. “Why would he do that?”

Fred shook his head. “I wish to hell I knew.”

Her mother set down a cup of coffee in front of Fred. He sighed and drank deep.

“Where is Jughead right now?” Betty needed to speak with him, talk some sense into him.

Fred rubbed his eyes. “They transported him from the county jail to Shankshaw Prison just after four o’clock this morning. He’s already gone, Betty. He agreed to serve a four-year sentence. There’s nothing else we can do.”

Betty felt numb. “But he’s innocent, Fred. Jughead doesn’t belong in prison.” The idea was insane. Innocent people don’t get sent to prison.

“No, he doesn’t. This is just...this is my worst nightmare.” Fred’s eyes filled with tears. “First FP violated his parole and wound up back in prison. Now Jug’s gone, too.”

“When can we see him?” Betty asked. “I need to talk to Jughead, to find out what happened.”

“Jughead left a letter for you with his lawyer.” Fred took an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to her. “If it sheds any light on why the hell he has done this, I’d love to know.”

_It’s over, Betts. The two of us. My life. Everything.  
_

_Please don’t call, don’t write, and don’t come to see me. Don’t try to fix this. There’s no fixing this.  
_

_I didn’t do this crime, you know that. But the prosecution found Penny Peabody and she was going to take the stand, show her scars, and let everyone know just what kind of man I really am. There’s no coming back from that, Betty. They would have thrown the book at me after that, given me the maximum sentence of twenty-five years.  
_

_Do the math. Four is better than twenty-five. I’m fucked, so completely fucked, and it’s all my fault. I’ll be in Shankshaw for four years unless I get parole. When I come out, I’ll be a convicted felon. That’s forever, Betty.  
_

_I know you’ll want to fight me on this, fix this, undo it. Don’t. I made my decision. All our plans, they just can’t happen now. So, follow your plan. Go to Stanford in August, start your freshman year. Stay in California, far away from this horrible fucking place. Live your life. Be happy.  
_

_You deserve better than this, I know that. I never wanted to hurt you, Betty Cooper. I just wanted to love you. But it all went wrong._

 

**_Chapter One- Welcome Home, Son_ **

It was a cold October morning, just after dawn. As Jughead walked through the double doors of Shankshaw Prison, his breath formed a cloud in the frigid air. After eighteen months behind prison walls, he was finally out.

Jughead was grateful to see Fred outside waiting, as promised. But there was a surprise: Archie was there, too. They were both leaning against a shiny new pickup truck. Fred noticed him first and grinned. “There he is. The man of the hour!”

Archie rushed over and hugged Jughead, hard. Jughead blinked. It had been so long since he’d felt a friendly touch. “Archie, you’re supposed to be in Wisconsin right now!”

“I needed to be here.” Archie thumped him on his back. “You look good, Jug. You look bigger than you used to be. More muscles.”

“Not much to do in prison to pass the time other than work out,” Jughead quipped. “I figured I’d make the most of it.”

Archie gripped his shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re out of there, Jug. Thank God you’re out.”

Fred hugged him, too. “I missed you, son.” Fred smelled like he always had, like Old Spice mixed with sawdust, and all at once Jughead had to blink back tears.

Jughead swallowed hard. “Thank you for all your letters, Fred, and the books, too. They really helped keep me going in there.”

“I’m glad that it helped you, Jug. Let’s go home.”

They stopped at a diner in Greendale. The lighting seemed too bright. It seemed too weird, the feel of the plastic menu in his hand. The notion that he could get up, right now, and walk out the door. It didn’t feel right now; nothing felt real.

Fred steered the conversation away from Archie’s stream of questions, of what Jughead wanted to do now that he was out, whom he wanted to see. Jughead was grateful. He didn’t feel like talking, now. He wanted to savor the salt of perfectly cooked French fries on his tongue; the crisp carbonation of his soda; the rush of flavor when he bit into his burger.

They drove back to Fred’s house. Vegas came running over, tail wagging. “Hey buddy.” Jughead petted the dog.

“I set up a sleeping bag upstairs for you in my room,” said Archie.

Jughead followed Archie up the stairs to his bedroom. Just like old times, he thought. It was like the last two years had never happened.

Archie threw him a t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants. Jughead took a long, hot shower in the bathroom. He locked the door, cranked up the hot water all the way, and used handful after handful of shampoo. He finally got the smell of prison off of him and dressed in Archie’s clean clothes, soft from many washings and smelling faintly of fabric softener.

Jughead lay down on the sleeping bag; Archie was already in bed. After a few minutes, Archie spoke. “I’m too wired to sleep. You want to play a few rounds of video games?”

So they sat side-by-side on Archie’s bed, playing a game they had played hundreds of times before. It was only then, with Archie, in familiar surroundings, that Jughead felt his shoulders relax. It was really over; he was really home.

Later, as he fell asleep, he thought about Betty. He wondered where she was now; if she was well; if she was happy. He thought about Betty every night, in those last few minutes of his day. With all his heart, he hoped she was happy. That was what she deserved.

The next morning, Jughead went home to the trailer park, behind the wheel of his father’s truck. Well, his truck, now. Although he owned the trailer outright now, he owed quite a bit of lot rent to the manager, Mrs. Mayes. She’d very kindly agreed to let him get caught up when he came home.

He pulled into the parking area in front of the trailer. It had the air of abandonment you’d expect after being unoccupied for eighteen months. Both of the Jones men had been incarcerated; there was no one to look after the place. When he walked up the front steps, there was a note taped to his front door.

_Welcome home. Serpents look after their own. We paid your lot rent while you were gone. Don’t come by and thank us. We don’t want you to violate your parole. Keep your nose clean, Jones._

_TT, SPF, FF  
_

Inside, everything was as he’d left it. Archie had followed his instructions and locked away everything that Jughead had truly valued into two large trunks in the bedroom closet. Nothing had been touched.

There was a note on the kitchen counter from Fred with a large gift card to a local grocery chain. Archie’s dad had stocked the fridge with some basics: milk, lunchmeat, cheese, hot dogs, juice, and eggs. His favorite crackers, cookies and cereal were in the cabinets. Jughead was overwhelmed, once again, at Fred’s generosity.

Keeping up with the lot rent meant the heat and electricity were on and the water was running. That was an unexpected surprise and Jughead was very grateful. The fact that the Serpents had paid the back lot rent meant that he now had a small nest egg to hold onto, instead of barely enough money to pay off his debt. He decided that he was okay with that. He had his pride, but he also knew that trying to pay back the Serpent’s gift would create trouble that he needed to avoid.

The first thing Jughead did was clean the place. It felt good to scrub the kitchen sink, clean the shower. He dusted everywhere, vacuumed the carpet, and washed the sheets. When he was done, he sat back on the couch with a contented sigh and looked around.

This was his home, now, and he controlled everything in it. For the first time in his entire life, he had his own space. There would be no more drunken scenes in this trailer; no more screaming fights. All Jughead wanted was peace and privacy and now he had it. After his time in Shankshaw, being back in the trailer was a little slice of heaven.

Jughead had an appointment to keep in an hour. It gave him just enough time to hit up the Wal-Mart in Greendale. He bought a card to add minutes to his pay-as-you-go phone, a few new dress shirts, some chino pants and a couple of ties, and a new comforter for his bed.

From the Wal-Mart parking lot, it was a fifteen-minute drive to the town of Peekskill. Jughead turned off the main road and into a large office park, with identical two-story commercial buildings faced in red brick and grey stone. Jughead found the one he was looking for and parked his truck out front.

The area parole office on the second floor served three counties, including Rockland. An older woman with short gray hair sat behind the reception desk and asked him to sign in. He did so and then sat down. It was a completely generic waiting area of grey upholstered chairs and metal tables, with nothing to indicate that it was a parole office.

Jughead tapped his fingers on his knee nervously. He wore a button-down shirt, which he had ironed, and his best pants. After over a year without it, he wore his beanie again. It made him feel so much more comfortable, being out in the world with it on.

After fifteen minutes, a door opened. “Forsythe Jones?” A middle-aged, white guy with a buzz cut stood in the doorway. He wore a crisp navy blue suit with an American flag pin on his lapel.

Jughead got up and walked over to the man, who shook his hand. “I’m Mr. Walsh, your parole officer.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Jughead Jones.”

In Mr. Walsh’s small, very tidy office, Jughead handed over his Certificate of Release to his parole officer.

“We’ve actually met before at your home, Jughead. I was your father’s parole officer too. FP had high hopes for you; he spoke to me a lot of your accomplishments; your writing talent. Having you as a parolee in my office is a real disappointment.” Mr. Walsh met Jughead’s eyes, a frown on his lips.

“Well, disappointing people is kind of a Jones family trait,” Jughead quipped.

“You think that’s funny?” Mr. Walsh frowned. “You think it’s funny that you failed to escape the cycle of poverty and gang activity and wound up a convicted felon at eighteen years old?”

“I can’t cry, so I might as well laugh.” It occurred to Jughead that alienating his parole officer was a stupid thing to do. “I’m sorry, sir. No, I don’t think being a felon is funny at all.”

Mr. Walsh nodded. “I’m glad that you understand that. Let’s get down to business, Mr. Jones.” He flipped open the folder on his desk. “So your address of record is 21 Sunshine Lane, Sunnyside Trailer Park, Lot 2 B in Riverdale, New York?”

“That is correct.”

“Do you have a home phone number?”

“My cell phone will be my only contact number.” Jughead recited his cell phone number, newly reactivated after his stop at the Wal-Mart.

“Your employment is with the _Riverdale_ _Register_.” Mr. Walsh leaned back in his chair. “I have spoken with Hal Cooper, your supervisor, several times. Your new position, it’s an excellent opportunity for someone with your criminal record. I suggest that you make the most of it.”

“I will, I promise you.” Jughead had been floored when he’d received the letter at Shankshaw offering him the job. Without a guarantee of employment back home, the parole board would not have agreed to release him from prison.

“You understand that your employment and reliable housing are one of the provisions of your parole? You must notify me immediately if you move or if you lose your job.”

“I understand.” Jughead would do anything under the sun to make sure that he kept up with his lot rent and stayed in Hal Cooper’s good graces.

“I see that you took the GED in Shankshaw.” Mr. Walsh leafed through the papers in his folder. “Your high school grades and test scores were certainly good enough for college before you wound up in the correctional system. You should strongly consider making plans to continue your education, Mr. Jones, since it appears that you have the aptitude to do so.”

“I did look into it, sir, but convicted felons aren’t eligible for federal student loans,” Jughead explained. “I’ll be making enough at the _Register_ to pay my bills, but not enough for tuition and books.” He’d resigned himself to the fact that his dreams of higher education were over.

“Carson College over in Riverdale offers the Step Up Program. It provides funding for disadvantaged students who don’t qualify for other sources of financial aid,” said Mr. Walsh. “I spoke with their admissions office. Based on your academic record, they will accept you for spring semester enrollment in their continuing education program towards a bachelor’s degree."

Jughead blinked. “They know about my conviction and they are still willing to accept me as a student?”

“Your clean behavioral record in prison was in your favor. Carson will grant you provisional student status your first semester. You’ll need to keep up a 3.0 GPA to achieve full admittance and to keep your funding from the Step Up program.”

Jughead was overwhelmed. “I just thought that college was completely out of my reach, now, after prison.”

“There are second chances,” said Mr. Walsh. “But rarely third chances. So I suggest that you make the most of it.” He handed Jughead a business card. “Your appointment with Miss Kent in admissions is tomorrow at four in the afternoon. Mr. Cooper has agreed to let you leave work early to make that appointment. Do not miss it for any reason.”

“I will absolutely be there.” Jughead felt hope that he hadn’t felt in a long time. He’d thought all of his dreams were lost; apparently not all of them were.

Mr. Walsh nodded. “Do you understand that I can visit you at any time, at your place of employment or your residence? I have the legal right to inspect you, your property and your residence at any time for any reason.”

“I understand that.” Compared to the complete lack of privacy in prison, the lack of real freedom back home was just an inconvenience.

Mr. Walsh picked up a sheet and read from it aloud. “As a convicted felon and parolee, you are forbidden from owning any weapons, including all types of guns and deadly weapons such as switchblades and razors.”

“Does that include a razor to shave with?” asked Jughead.

“Are you being sarcastic, Mr. Jones?” Mr. Walsh frowned.

“No, I’m trying to avoid anything that might get me into trouble.”

“Buy yourself an electric razor and avoid any problems.” Mr. Walsh continued reading aloud. “You’re to have no contact with any members of a criminal organization or anyone with a criminal record.” Mr. Walsh looked up at him, his brown eyes hard. “That includes all Southside Serpents, including your father. No contact whatsoever. No letters, no phone calls, no in-person visits. Nothing.”

Jughead’s stomach clenched. “They told me at Shankshaw that I could apply to visit Dad at Ossining. That it was possible to ask for a waiver to the rule against felons visiting inmates, on family grounds.”

Mr. Walsh shook his head. “That kind of waiver is only granted for a compassionate exemption. It’s never going to happen, unless your father is dying, or you are, and you have the paperwork to prove it.”

Jughead knew in that moment that he wouldn’t see his father again for fifteen years. In a way, he’d already processed it. He was surprised at how much it hurt. He’d thought he was beyond things hurting, after everything that happened to him.

“You are not permitted to leave New York State until the term of your parole ends,” Mr. Walsh continued. “That means, for the next two and a half years, if you want to leave the state, you need to let me know of your intent to travel, in advance, and gain my consent, in writing. Failure to do so will result in a parole violation and your immediate return to Shankshaw for the remainder of your sentence.”

“I understand.” There was no way Jughead would risk going back to prison. He intended to toe the line until his parole was done.

The next morning, Jughead ironed his new clothes, a crisp white dress shirt and a new pair of khakis, and dressed. He shined his boots with a jar of Vaseline and a paper towel. Lastly, he put on a tie and his suspenders. He grabbed the paper sack that contained the lunch that he had packed for himself and set out for his first day of work.

He parked outside the _Register_ offices. It wasn’t the simple downtown storefront Jughead remembered; the newspaper offices were now in an office building in the SoDale complex. It was close enough to the trailer park that Jughead could walk to work if he wanted to.

When Jughead walked into the office, Hal Cooper was waiting by the front reception desk, his arms crossed. “Ten minutes early. That’s a good start, kid.” He didn’t smile at Jughead, just gave him a brisk nod.

Jughead had never known for sure if Betty’s dad liked him or not. The fact that he’d offered him a job meant that he must. But he certainly wasn’t giving him a warm welcome.

“Follow me and we will get started,” said Hal. He walked off toward a glass-enclosed office. Jughead walked past the empty reception desk and then a row of computer workstations. There were eight people working in the office and he passed a break room with a vending machine, a refrigerator and two round tables.

In his office, Hal cleared a stack of papers off the chair in front of his desk and gestured for Jughead to sit. Hal sat down in his chair, crossed his fingers, and looked Jughead right in the eye. “Do you know how you wound up with a job here at the _Register_ , Jughead?”

Jughead took a deep breath. “I assume...Betty?”

There was a photo of Betty on Hal’s desk in a heavy silver frame. It was angled so Jughead could see it. She was wearing a Stanford University t-shirt, her smile wide, as she leaned against a palm tree. She’d gone to California, just like she’d planned.

“No, you are here for two reasons: one, your work for the _Blue and Gold_ was exemplary. You really have a way with words and you’re good with the camera, too. I can definitely use your talents, once you’ve proven yourself to me.” Hal met Jughead’s eyes with a direct gaze. “The second reason is to help you out of the hole that you’ve dug for yourself. You were innocent of that robbery, Jughead. Fred thinks you were framed; Betty swore up and down you had nothing to do with it. The fact that you used the Alford plea means that they were right. You truly were innocent of that crime.”

“Yes, I was innocent,” Jughead said. “Not that it mattered.”

“Then why the hell did you accept the plea bargain?” Hal’s brow furrowed. “You could have gone to trial, been proven innocent, and walked away a free man.”

“I had good reason to believe that I would never get a fair trial, due to my father’s reputation and my own involvement with the Serpents. So I took the Alford plea and four years in prison with the plea bargain to avoid the risk of a twenty-five-year sentence.” At the time, it didn’t feel like Jughead had any options at all.

Hal sighed. “That was a huge, life-altering mistake. I’m sure you’re aware of that. You’re twenty years old and a convicted felon, Jughead. With a felony conviction on your record, your employment options are very limited.”

“I am acutely aware of that, sir. I’m thankful that you took a chance on me here at the _Register_. I’m extremely grateful for the opportunity, more than I can say. Without a job, the parole board wouldn’t have let me out of Shankshaw.” Jughead cleared his throat. “I know that you sent the parole board a letter on my behalf, as well, and I appreciate it.”

“It was the only thing I could do to help you.” Hal slapped his hand on the desk. “Well, enough of that. Let’s get you started here, Jughead. Let me be clear; I have a full staff of writers and photographers at the moment, but I’m short an office manager. That’s where you come in. You will run the reception desk; order office supplies; take phone messages; deal with our advertisers and the printing company. This is not the dream job in journalism that you probably hoped for when you were writing for the _Blue and Gold._ But this is a full-time job, with a living wage and benefits. You will get sick leave, vacation, and health insurance. Your hours are eight to five, with an hour break for lunch. In return I expect you to work hard and do your best every day.“

“I’m not afraid of hard work,” Jughead said. “I’m eager to get started."

Hal patted his shoulder. “Then let’s make things official.”

Jughead filled out some paperwork: his employment agreement, a human resources packet for his benefits, and a form for a press badge.

“You may never need the press badge, but if I need you in a pinch, you’ll have the credentials.” Hal took out a camera from his desk. “Let me take your photo for the press badge. Don’t smile; look serious. There, that’s good.” He took the photo and the camera flashed.

Jughead blinked as his field of vision filled with tiny flashes of light.

“One last thing, Jug. Penelope would like to have you over for dinner to welcome you home.”

Hal Cooper had married Cheryl’s mother during their junior year of high school on Valentine’s Day. Jughead had been at the wedding; Betty had been a bridesmaid. She’d worn a red satin dress and Jughead had danced with her all night at the reception. The night had ended with a very naked Betty in the backseat of her mother’s car. It had been one of the moments with Betty that he’d thought about over and over during those long nights at Shankshaw.

“Jughead?” Hal’s voice brought him back to the present. “Would you join us for dinner?”

Jughead had no interest in eating dinner with this particular configuration of Coopers, but there was no way to politely refuse. “Thank you for the invitation. I will be there.”

“Wonderful,” Hal said with a smile. “Come to Thistlehouse for dinner this Thursday night at seven. My wife would appreciate it if you wore a shirt and tie; you remember that Penelope likes things a bit formal at home.”

“I will make myself presentable,” Jughead assured him. Dinner with Hal and Penelope had always been a formal affair; he ate many meals at their table during his relationship with Betty.

“Good.” Hal stood up. “Let me show you your desk and introduce you around.”

After work, Jughead drove over to the library. He needed books to read and he was looking forward to having access to a well-stocked library again. As he walked through the doors, he was greeted by the comforting smell of old books and wood polish. The smell made him feel more comfortable and at home than being back at the trailer had.

“Jughead Jones, as I live and breathe!” The librarian, Mrs. Anthony, waved him over to her desk. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.” She leaned over the counter and hugged him, hard. “I heard that you were coming back home.”

“I am back home,” Jughead said to Mrs. Anthony. “Thank you for writing a letter to the parole board on my behalf. I really appreciated it.”

“Prison is no place for someone like you, Jug. Please stay out of trouble, now that you are on parole,” she said softly.

“I intend to, I promise you.”

“I set aside a few new releases for you.” She turned back and rummaged around on her desk. She handed him a stack of new hardbacks from some of his favorite authors.

“I can’t believe that you remembered what I like to read.” Jughead ran his hands over the covers. He couldn’t wait to dive in and start reading.

“Jughead, I’ve been giving you ten books a week to read since you were six. Of course I remembered what you like.” She smiled, her eyes bright. “You’re my best customer. I’ve missed you.”

That night, Jughead ate his favorite Campbell’s chicken soup as he read one of his new library books. When he finished the bowl of soup he realized that he felt something he hadn’t in a long time: contentment. His life now, after prison, wasn’t half bad.

But when his head hit his pillow last night, he thought of Betty. She’d looked so carefree and happy in her father’s photo. She was in California, going to her dream college. All this time, Jughead had hoped that she was happy, that she was doing well. That was what he’d wanted when he’d broken things off.

But lying alone in bed, he admitted to himself how much he missed her. He’d never be completely content, not without Betty in his life, and he’d resigned himself to that. He wondered if she still thought of him, still missed him.

He didn’t deserve to even ask the question.


	2. Dreaming With A Broken Heart

It was another beautiful day in the Bay Area. Betty had a packed schedule that day, but she took a little time to enjoy the gorgeous California weather. She walked across campus, passing by the large white stucco buildings that were topped with Mediterranean style tiled roofs. She passed a rose bush that was in full bloom. With a gentle tug, she pulled off a peach colored flower, sheared off the thorns with her thumbnail, and tucked it behind her ear. She inhaled deeply, enjoying the smell.

She had some time between classes, so she stopped by the student union. She passed the wide lawn, with people sitting on blankets eating, playing Frisbee and just hanging out. Someone from the Green Harder Committee stopped her with a clipboard and asked her to sign a petition to ban disposable cups in the campus dining halls. Betty signed it and headed inside to the coffee shop. 

After she grabbed her iced coffee, she went to the mail office and checked her box. Sure enough, she had a new letter. The envelope looked like it had been caught in the rain; the return address was barely legible. JONES and OSSINING, NEW YORK were the only words she could clearly make out.

Outside, she sat under a palm tree, drank her coffee and read the latest missive from FP.

_Hey there Betty dear!_

_Thanks (again) so much for sending me cash for the commissary. Prison life sucks, let me tell you, but being able to buy a chocolate bar or some instant coffee or decent toilet paper really brightens my day. You’re an angel._

_I got the book you sent me. Those fuckers cut off the hardback cover! I was so pissed. What am I going to do, shank someone with the spine of a fucken book? You kidding me? But anyways, got the book._

_Still reading the book; you know I’m no speedy reader like Jug. This Raymond Chandler, he sure can write! You called it, man, when you said I’d dig this guy. I’ve been reading it to my cellmate, Meatball. We’re both into it. That Philip Marlowe guy, he’s a real smooth motherfucker. Is there another book with Marlowe in it? If so, can you see if you can find a copy for me? Used is good; no need to spend more money on me more than you already do._

_How are your classes? Abnormal psychology sounds cool. I could diagnose everyone in this fucken place if I took that class! Ha ha ha. But that statistics class? Man, that sounds so hard. But you’re super smart like your mama, so of course you’re going to kick ass. I have faith in you!_

_Thanks for the pictures. Man, it looks so beautiful out there. When I get out of here, I’m going to California. I’m gunna find me a palm tree and sit under it all day long. Just soak up all the sun I want, for as long as I want._

_I’m real proud of you, kiddo. Thanks for taking the time to write me. It’s a little slice of sunshine in my mailbox every week._

_FP_

_PS Fred saw Jug last week, said that he’s doing okay. I wish I could talk some sense into him, but you know the damn warden won’t even let me send him a letter. Fred said that Jug has a parole hearing this week, so fingers crossed that the kid gets out of that fucken place soon._

Betty folded up the letter and placed it in her backpack. Her first instinct was to call Fred, get all the details right away. Was Jug actually out now? Was he back home in Riverdale? The thought made her heart race.

But she made herself relax, drink her iced coffee, feel the breeze on her face. She’d be home next month for Thanksgiving. If Jughead was home, she’d see him then. They’d have a chance to talk, face to face.

All this time, she’d held out hope that Jughead would be granted parole and get out early. She hoped it was true. She was from a small town; if Jughead was back home, she’d hear about it soon. Otherwise, there was no point getting her hopes up.

Betty pulled out her academic planner and checked her schedule. She had her writing seminar at two, biology lab at three and a study session for psych tonight at seven. Somewhere in there, she needed to watch _Citizen Kane_ for her film class. She had the DVD checked out from the library and sitting on the desk in her dorm room.

Betty had work tonight, too, staking out the apartment of a suspected adulterer. Working for a private investigator was a lot more boring than she’d originally thought it would be. She mostly sat around in a car with a camera, waiting to take surveillance pictures of someone’s philandering spouse, or she ran skip traces on her computer. It wasn’t exactly fun, but it paid really well, and there was a paycheck waiting for her at the office tonight. Payday was always a good day.

Despite her decision to not overreact about Jughead, she really wanted to know if he was out. Her fingers itched with the urge to call her Mom, call Fred, and find out what was going on with Jug. They would have told her, right, if he’d been granted parole? She reminded herself that there was no point getting all worked up. Jughead was thousands of miles away; she had a life here and now to deal with.

Later that afternoon, Betty sat cross-legged on her bed, watching _Citizen Kane_. It was one of the great masterpieces of American cinema, apparently, but she thought it was really boring. Nonetheless, she diligently took notes as she watched, so that she would have talking points for the class discussion the next day.

Her cell phone rang. It was Cheryl. Betty didn’t hear from her stepsister that much, so rather than letting it go to voicemail, she answered. “Hey, Cheryl.”

“Hey, BC. What’s shaking out there in sunny California?”

“The usual, busting my ass with classes and work.”

“You’re always such a busy little bee,” said Cheryl, in her slightly condescending manner. “Working hard but not playing hard, I bet. Tell me, dear sister, are you hitting up keggers? Have you found a nice blond surfer boy yet to keep you warm at night?”

Betty laughed. “Every conversation, you ask who I’m dating. There’s more to college life than dating.”

“Okay, so I’m going to take that as a no.” Cheryl paused. “Well, that being said, you may be interested to know that a certain tall, dark, and handsome former inmate is back home in fair Riverdale.”

Betty’s heart skipped a beat. “Jug got parole? He really is out?”

“I had dinner with him last night at Thistlehouse. I was in Riverdale for the day to help Mommy decorate the house for Halloween. You know how much we Blossoms love Halloween! We got all the decorations out of the attic-“

“Cheryl!” Betty interrupted. “Tell me about the dinner! Why was Jughead at Thistlehouse last night?”

“Your dad invited him for dinner,” said Cheryl. “Officially, it was to welcome the _Register_ ’s newest employee to the staff. But unofficially, I think Mommy wanted to hear his sordid prison stories. You know she loves to get a leg up on the best gossip.”

“So Jughead is back home and working at Dad’s paper?” Betty couldn’t believe her father hadn’t told her about it.

“Yes, he’s the new office manager. Answers the phone, makes copies. Who knows, boring plebian stuff?”

“How is he?” Betty picked at her bedspread. There was a loose thread there that she hadn’t noticed before.

“He’s as taciturn as ever,” Cheryl complained. “Being in prison didn’t improve his social skills, that’s for sure. But he’s clearly been working out. Filled out his sweater really nicely. Hello, shoulders and pecs! But he had his stupid beanie on, of course. He’s still a total weirdo.”

Betty smiled. “I’m glad he hasn’t changed that much.”

“So, I thought you’d like to know,” Cheryl continued, “that your former flame is back home. Jughead is living in his dad’s trailer, apparently. So maybe, when you come home next month, you might swing by and see him.” She laughed. “Or maybe you’re totally over him, don’t care, and this call was a complete waste of my time?”

“No, I’m really glad you called, Cheryl. I appreciate it very much, actually.”

“I’ll see you at Thanksgiving, Betty. Take care.”

Betty hung up the phone and put the movie back on. She sat there, eyes on the screen, mind elsewhere.

Jughead was home, safe and sound, from Shankshaw. He had a good job, thanks to her dad, and was living in the trailer. Betty was so happy for him; it must be such a relief, to be free again. In just a few weeks, she would see him again. What would they say to each other, after all this time? Where would they even begin?

They’d planned for a long distance relationship. They’d hashed it out over many cups of coffee in the trailer and milkshakes at Pop’s. Jughead would be in Vermont at Bennington; she would be in California at Stanford. Between winter break, summer vacation and shorter breaks, they would never go longer than three months without seeing each other.

They’d planned on four years apart. It would be hard, they’d agreed, but their love was worth holding on to. Could they pick up where they’d left off now that Jughead was out of Shankshaw? Betty hoped so. She just knew, deep in her heart, that Jughead must have missed her as deeply as she missed him.

****

Jughead settled into a new normal, back at home in Riverdale. He liked routine and so he developed one early on. On Monday nights, he went to Fred’s for dinner and stayed afterward to watch football with him. He didn’t care about football, but it made Fred happy and Jughead enjoyed the company. On Wednesdays during his lunch hour, he met with his probation officer for their mandatory weekly meeting. Thursdays, he chatted with Archie over Skype; his best friend was mainly concerned with keeping his long-distance romance with Veronica alive while he was in Wisconsin and she was in New York City.

Every night, he spent some time writing the memoir that he’d been mulling over in his head the entire time he was in Shankshaw. He’d decided to _Call it Born Under A Bad Sign_. Jughead had never really had a chance. He felt like his life had been predestined to fail. He had been born to two parents who were high school dropouts. His dad was an alcoholic who couldn’t keep a job. Crime was the only way to make ends meet and FP had never had a chance of going straight. All of Jughead’s hopes had been crushed by the unwavering misery of life. His dreams of becoming a novelist were over but the act of stringing together words was still a comfort. So night after night, he wrote.

He realized that his story wasn’t just his, but his dad’s, too. He rifled through boxes in the hall closet, finding photo albums of his father’s childhood, letters he’d written home to his mother when he was in the Army. Despite FP’s protests, Jughead learned that his gift with words hadn’t come from nowhere. His dad’s letters were witty, funny and entertaining. He’d been just as much of a good writer as Jughead. All that promise wasted. 

He found some old family photos of his dad with his grandparents and a nice portrait of he and his sister. It was Jellybean’s first Christmas; he held her in his arms as they posed in front of a Christmas tree. There were some good memories, mixed in with all the bad. Jughead bought some frames and hung up the family photos in the living room.

Next to them, he added another photo he’d found. He, Betty and Archie were standing on the front steps of the Cooper house. They each held a Popsicle and were smiling widely for the camera. They’d been six when the photo was taken; both Archie and Betty were taller than he was in the picture. He remembered when it was taken; it was one of the Coopers’ Fourth of July parties. Mary Andrews had taken the photo; Hal Cooper had given them the Popsicles.

There was one more photo that he framed. It was a snapshot that Archie had taken on the night of Homecoming, their senior year. It was the last dance that Jughead and Betty had attended together; less than a month later, he was in jail. In the photo, Betty wore a strapless black dress dusted with silver embroidery; Jughead wore a black suit and a silver tie to match her dress. They were gazing into each other’s eyes, both smiling. They both looked young, in love, and radiantly happy. Jughead put the picture on his bedside table, so he could see Betty when he woke up in the morning.

As Halloween drew near and the decorations went up around town, Jughead thought of Jellybean a lot. It was her favorite holiday by far. Every year, he’d scrounged together whatever he could to make a cool costume for his little sister. His mother had always driven them over to Betty and Archie’s neighborhood; no one in the trailer park gave out any decent candy. This year, Jughead bought the good stuff: full-size Snickers bars. The trailer park kids who knocked on his door this year would get a nice surprise.

His mother’s phone number in Toledo was disconnected. The letter he’d sent to Jellybean had been returned to him, with no forwarding address. His kid sister was fourteen now and he had no idea where she was, what she was doing, if she was okay. It gnawed at him; worried him.

On Halloween night, Jughead had a lot of kids knocking on his door. He was prepared though; he’d bought several bags of candy. He could always eat what he didn’t give away. There were worse things than leftover Halloween candy.

Just past eight, Jughead answered the knocking to find a familiar trio on his doorstep: Sweet Pea; Toni; and Fangs. They were all dressed in Halloween costumes.

Toni dove into his arms, hugging him hard. “It’s so good to see you, Jug.”

“It’s good to see you too.” As small as she was, Toni gave intense hugs; she was completely squashing him. With a gentle pat on her shoulder, he stepped away from her. “But you guys shouldn’t be here.”

“We don’t want to get you in trouble. We’re just headed to the Wyrm for the Halloween party,” said Sweet Pea. “If there’s some cop watching your place, they took the night off tonight. There are too many kids egging houses and knocking over mailboxes for them to worry about one dude, right?”

“Do you want to come with us to the party, see everyone?” Fangs asked. “We don’t want to get you in trouble, man, but one night probably can’t hurt.”

Jughead had been lonely since he got out of jail. He was really, really lonely, in fact. But he had years of probation left and there was no way in hell he would risk going back to Shankshaw. It was far better to be lonely than to be in prison.

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m just going to hang out at home,” said Jughead. “I still have a lot of candy to give out.”

His former friends made their goodbyes just as a new group of kids arrived: a devil, a ghost in an old bed sheet and a princess in a satin dress that had seen better days.

“Wow!” Jughead said with a smile. “You guys all sure look great.”

“Trick or treat!” they yelled in unison.

Jughead let them take as much candy as they wanted.

_****_

Betty leaned back into the leather cushions of her therapist’s sofa. It was really comfortable and she felt relaxed. Dr. Linda’s office had become a source of comfort for her over the last year. She loved the mid-century modern furniture, the bright oil paintings on her walls, and the no bullshit style of her therapist. Getting some help with her anxiety was one of the best decisions she’d ever made.

“So.” Dr. Linda leaned forward in her chair. “How do you feel about going home for Thanksgiving?”

“Mixed,” Betty replied. “You know that my mom seriously stresses me out. She’s a big part of why I wanted to go to college three thousand miles away from home.”

“But now you have strategies to deal with the feelings of anxiety,” her therapist reminded her. “You’ve truly mastered those healthy coping mechanisms. This last summer you proved that even months back at home can’t destroy your equilibrium.”

“I do know that,” Betty said confidently. “The tools that we’ve worked on in therapy, they have made a huge difference with my anxiety. But it’s always going to be stressful, especially the back and forth between my parents’ homes on holidays. Mom makes nasty cracks about Dad and Penelope; Dad makes comments about Mom and how she hasn’t dated anyone else since the divorce.” 

“But your parent’s drama isn’t your drama,” Dr. Linda pointed out. “You know how to keep a distance from that bullshit and not internalize it, right?”

Betty nodded. “Oh, totally. It’s just kind of funny? Sad, maybe? That I can sit here in your office right now, and tell you the exact conversation that will happen on Thursday. Mom will complain that Polly won’t see her enough; she’ll complain that she doesn’t get to see the twins, either; she’ll complain that Dad is slow to pay her alimony. Dad will brag about his latest fancy vacation with Penelope, make a few cracks about how badly Mom is aging, and then he’ll complain about not getting to see Polly and the twins enough. Cheryl will go on and on about her fashion design classes at FIT, name drop a lot of people I don’t know, and ask probing questions about my sex life at the dinner table.”

Dr. Linda laughed. “You know it’s funny, Betty. You’ve described these people so well, I swear I can hear their voices in my head.” 

“You’re the therapist,” Betty teased. “You’re not supposed to hear voices in your head!” 

“Well, you know what they say about psychiatrists,” Dr. Linda said. “The only people that are interested in working with crazy people every day have to be a little crazy themselves.” She smiled at Betty. “So, you’ll be dealing with family drama. You’ve got that covered. So what else? Let’s talk about good moments, things that you are excited about. Like reconnecting with your friends like Archie and Veronica? Maybe going to your favorite diner and having a milkshake?”

Betty nodded. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll wind up in a booth at Pop’s with Archie and Veronica.” A happy thought occurred to her. “And, maybe, this year, Jughead too.” It would be so wonderful, if the four of them could be together again.

Her therapist raised one eyebrow. “You kind of buried the lede there, kiddo. Your ex-boyfriend is out of prison?”

Betty nodded. “Since mid-October. He’s out on parole and back in Riverdale, working at the _Register_.”

“Wow. So you’ve known about this for a while, then. But you didn’t discuss it with me.” Her therapist gave her a sharp look. “I find that very interesting.”

Betty shrugged. “I knew what you’d say.”

“Give me some credit, Betty.” Dr. Linda adjusted her glasses. “After all our conversations, I understand that Jughead has a very special place in your heart. He was your first love, your first lover. It is understandable, and appropriate, that you would have deep feelings for him.”

“And I do,” said Betty. “My feelings for Jughead haven’t changed one bit. I still love him just as much now as I did when I could see him every day.”

Dr. Linda nodded. “That’s the issue, Betty. You still haven’t accepted the fact that the relationship has ended. Your romantic relationship with Jughead, it’s been over for a long time. You know that.”

Betty shook her head. “I don’t know that for sure. I think that when Jughead wrote that breakup letter, he was panicked and terrified. He pushed me away to try to keep me safe. I know that’s the only reason he wrote that letter. He’s done that before, we’ve talked about that here in therapy. But I don’t believe that he doesn’t love me anymore. I’m sure Jughead still loves me the same way I love him. I just need to see him and look him in the eyes. If it’s really over, I’ll know.”

“I think you’re setting yourself up for a real heartbreak here, Betty,” her therapist said. “It’s been, what, a year and a half since Jughead went to prison? No phone calls. No letters. He hasn’t reached out in any way. He’s given you no reason to hold onto hope. We’ve talked about this, about letting go.”

“If Jughead looks me in the eye and tells me it is over, I’ll let go,” Betty said. “And if that happens, when I come to my appointment next week I’ll sit here and cry and use up an entire box of your tissues and you can tell me ‘I told you so’. But I’m not done fighting for him.” 

Dr. Linda sighed. “I really hope you get the answer you’re hoping for, Betty. I hope that Jughead truly does love you the way that you love him. Either way, I’ll be here for you.”


	3. I Just Don’t Think I’ll Ever Get Over You

The day before Thanksgiving, Archie came home from Wisconsin. He called Jughead as soon as he arrived. Within minutes, the two of them were up in Archie’s room, playing video games and eating Doritos.

As night fell, Veronica arrived. She appeared in the doorway, hand on hip, and gave him an icy look. “Jughead Jones. ” Veronica tilted her head. “I heard that they’d let you out of the clink. No longer a threat to society, I trust?”

Archie gave her a sharp look. “Ronnie, be nice.”

She laughed. “Nice? Oh, hell no. After what Jughead pulled, nice is not on the menu.”

“It’s not Jughead’s fault that he went to prison,” Archie replied. “Jughead didn’t have anything to do with that robbery.”

“I’m not mad at Jughead because he went to prison, you numbskull! I’ll never forgive him for what he did to Betty. It was heartless and cruel.”

“Give him a break,” said Archie.

“Not a chance in hell!” Veronica shook her head. “He doesn’t deserve one.”

Jughead knew that Archie had been counting the minutes until he saw Veronica again. He needed to leave so the two of them could have the happy reunion that they deserved. “Arch, I’m going to head home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Don’t go,” Archie protested, but Jughead stood up and put down the controller on the bed.

Veronica glared at Jughead, her eyes hard. “Do you understand just how much you hurt Betty? She was so loyal and caring and she loved you so much. And you just kicked her to the curb without a word. You suck, Jughead.”

Light flared in the corner of Jughead’s vision and he turned his head. Betty stood in her window, framed in golden light. Jughead stood there, frozen. She was as beautiful as ever: long, blonde hair, satin skin, and pink lips. He watched as she picked up a book from her dresser and put it down. She looked over towards Archie’s window and she saw him.

Betty smiled at him, one of her glorious smiles. It was wide and joyous, her whole face lighting up. She raised one hand and waved it at him.

Jughead smiled back at her. It was impossible not to smile when Betty looked at him that way. He raised his hand and waved back.

Veronica grabbed his arm and turned him to face her. “Oh, no you don’t! Stay away from her, Jug. You’ve done enough damage.”

Jughead pulled away from her grasp. “I know I have.” He walked out of the room and down the stairs. He needed to get home, collect his thoughts, and figure out what to say to Betty. If she was home from California, she’d come find him, guaranteed.

Fred was in the kitchen, slicing up a pizza with a cutter. “Are you ready for some pizza, kiddo? It’s supreme, just the way you like it.”

“I’m going to head out,” said Jughead. “My being here, it is screwing up Archie’s reunion with Veronica.” Plus, he needed to leave before Betty showed up on Fred’s doorstep. He couldn’t talk to her, say what he had to say, in a houseful of people.

Fred sighed. “Well, Veronica is very protective of Betty. You could have handled that situation better, son.”

“I did what I thought was best at the time.” He truly had and now he had to live with the consequences.

Fred shrugged. “Don’t we all? But we often make terrible choices, just the same.” He placed half the pizza on a sheet of aluminum foil and wrapped it up. “Here’s your food to go, Jug. You’ll be back tomorrow for Thanksgiving dinner, right?”

“Is Veronica going to be here?” Jughead didn’t want to ruin Archie’s Thanksgiving by causing drama with Veronica.

“No, just us guys.”

“Then I’ll be here.”

“Two sharp,” said Fred. “Don’t forget, you’re bringing the rolls and a jug of cider.”

“I won’t forget.”

 

****

Betty thought that Jughead looked the same. His hair was longer; it curled around his shoulders now. He did look more muscular, just as Cheryl had told her. His shoulders were wide and broad in his blue plaid shirt.

He smiled at her, his widest grin, and Betty felt warm inside. Prison hadn’t broken him. He was still Jug and he was still happy to see her. She’d been right to hold on to hope, even after everyone told her it was time to let go.

Betty watched as Veronica pulled Jughead away from the window. She didn’t know what her friend was saying, but Veronica was clearly angry. Jughead’s face changed, closed off, and he set his jaw.

Betty rummaged in her closet for a pair of shoes, slid them on and dashed downstairs.

She ran past her mother in the living room. “Betty? Where are you going?” Alice asked.

“Just next door, I’ll be right back.” Betty opened her front door and ran down the front steps. She was just in time to see FP’s truck roar to life and speed off down the street. Jughead was leaving. She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, watching as the truck turned the corner. Damn it!

The door to Archie’s house opened. Veronica stepped through, arguing with Archie. “No, I don’t have to see your point of view!” her friend said hotly. “I’ve heard your point of view, repeatedly. Your point of view is wrong!”

Archie saw Betty and pointed at her. “Look, if Betty is willing to forgive Jug, you need to let it go!”

Veronica stomped down the sidewalk towards Betty. “Tell me that you’re not going to start things up again with Jughead.”

“Veronica, I haven’t even said one word to him,” Betty protested. “Because you chased him away before I even could!”

“Ronnie, come back here,” Archie called.

“I need to talk some sense into this girl,” Veronica called.

“Stay out of it,” Archie suggested. “Let them work it out.”

“Yeah. Fuck that!” Veronica retorted.

“Whatever. I’ll call you later.” Archie slammed his front door shut.

Veronica walked up to Betty. “Come on. Let’s go to Pop’s, grab some milkshakes, and talk this out.”

Betty didn’t want to go talk it out with Veronica. She wanted to hop in the car she’d borrowed from her father and drive over to the trailer park to see Jughead. “Not right now, V.”

Veronica grabbed her shoulders. “So help me, Betty, do not go chasing after Jughead Jones! It’s always him pushing you away and you trying to hold on. Damn it, do you know how frustrating it is to see you like this? It’s like we’re sixteen all over again.”

“I haven’t seen Jughead in nearly two years,” Betty said passionately. “I need to talk to him.”

“After everything you’d been through together, Jughead dumped you with a letter!” Veronica reminded her. “After you’d been dating for over two years! Why do you even want to see him?”

“Because I still love him,” Betty said. Time hadn’t changed that, not one bit.

Veronica held up one finger. “No, you don’t. We’ve talked about this at length, B. You love the idea of Jughead, the happy times that you had together back in high school. You don’t even know who Jughead is anymore and he doesn’t know you. You are strangers, Betty, and it is best for everyone if you go your separate ways.”

“I love you, V, and I know you mean well,” Betty said, anger edging into her voice. “But my feelings about Jughead and what happens next in our relationship aren’t up to you. So if you can’t bring yourself to be supportive, then just back off.”

Veronica made a strangled noise of frustration. “Damn it, Betty! As your best friend, the one who truly loves you with all her heart, I’m staging an intervention. We’re going to go to Pop’s and you are going to listen to me for once!” She put her arm through Betty’s and walked her towards her Mercedes, parked on the street.

Betty yanked her arm away from her friend. “No! V, just stop. Listen to me. I love Jughead. I’ve missed him every day that he’s been gone.”

Alice Cooper opened her front door and peered outside. “Betty?” she called.

“I’m just talking to Veronica, Mom!” Betty called impatiently.

“Why don’t you girls come inside and talk? It’s freezing out here! Dinner’s ready. We’re having chicken cordon bleu, Veronica, if you’d like to join us.”

“I’d love to,” Veronica answered.

Betty sighed. She’d have to go find Jughead after she finished dinner with her mother and got rid of Veronica.

In their dining room, Alice set out a platter of chicken cordon bleu and bowls of French cut green beans and a sweet potato gratin on the table. Betty was, as always, impressed by her mother’s skills in the kitchen. “This all looks amazing, Mom.”

Veronica helped herself to the food. “Thank you for having me, Mrs. Cooper. This is wonderful.”

Alice sat down and poured herself a glass of Chardonnay. “It’s a pleasure to have someone to cook for. Alone in this house, there’s no point to cooking a meal for myself. I might as well just microwave a frozen dinner and call it a day.”

Betty was used to her mother’s monologues of misery by now. She’d been like this since Betty left for college; each visit home was an unending guilt trip. “I thought you were going to try that dating service? It’s Just Brunch?”

Alice rolled her eyes. “You would not believe the crop of losers that I met, Betty. Unbelievable. At my age, you scrape the bottom of the dating barrel.”

“Speaking of which,” Veronica said brightly, “I just saw Jughead next door at Archie’s.”

Betty gave her friend a pointed look. “V.”

“Fred told me that he was out on parole,” said Alice. “I’m glad. Prison was no place for a sensitive, creative boy like Jughead. I’m sure it was very hard for him, being in that terrible place.”

“You didn’t mention that Jughead was home, Mom,” said Betty. “I’m surprised you didn’t tell me.”

Alice took a sip of wine. “Well, I’d intended to do so after we’d caught up a bit. Your father picked you up at the airport last night and spent the day with you today. I’ve barely seen you. I knew that the second that I told you the news about Jughead, you’d be off and running to be with him.” Alice smiled at Betty. “I’ve missed you, Betty, and you’re only here for such a short time. I want to spend some time with my daughter.”

Betty understood her mother’s point. “I do want to spend time with you, Mom. But yes, now that I know that Jughead is home, I need to see him.”

Alice nodded. “Of course you do. There’s no keeping the two of you away from each other; we all know that by now.”

“You don’t support Betty and Jughead getting back together, do you, Mrs. Cooper?” Veronica asked.

Alice looked at Veronica, one eyebrow raised. “They’re adults. My opinion is irrelevant, Veronica. But Betty and Jughead have always complemented each other so well. I’ve never doubted that their relationship would survive despite the many obstacles that have appeared in their way. Some things are just meant to be.”

Betty was touched. She reached out and patted her mother’s hand. “That means a lot to me, Mom, thank you.”

“Well, I couldn’t disagree more.” Veronica stabbed her cordon bleu with her fork. “Betty is a straight A student at one of the top universities in the country. She can do a hell of a lot better than a high school dropout, convicted felon who broke her heart and just walked away.”

Betty was pissed off. “Look, you’ve made your opinion on this very clear, Veronica. But if you value our friendship, I really need you to drop this. I love Jughead, whether you like it or not, and you need to respect that.”

“Think of it this way, Veronica.” Alice looked over at Veronica, her mouth curved into a slight smile. “If I told you that I thought Archie Andrews is just a dumb jock, head full of rocks, and much too stupid for a smart girl like you, what would you say?”

Veronica set her jaw. “I’d tell you that my relationship is none of your damn business.”

Alice smiled. “Exactly. So, let’s talk about something more pleasant. How are your fashion design classes going? I understand that Cheryl Blossom is in the same major you are at FIT.”

Veronica rolled her eyes. “Cheryl is a year ahead of me, so until now we haven’t been in the same classes, but we are working on a design show together right now and she is so freaking annoying...”

Betty smiled as she listened to her friend bitch about Cheryl. Her mother had done a world-class job of deflecting Veronica. Betty was grateful for that as well as for her mother’s show of support for her relationship with Jughead.

When the meal was over, Betty walked Veronica to her front door.

“I’m sorry, Betty.” Veronica sighed. “I’m not trying to be unsupportive. I know that you still have strong feelings for Jug. But it was so hard for you when he broke things off. I remember all those months, Betty, _months_ of crying and fits of depression and anger and general misery. I love you and I don’t want to see you get hurt again.” Veronica’s voice rang with sincerity.

Betty pulled Veronica into a hug. “I love you, too. I know you mean well.” She pulled apart and looked at her friend seriously. “We’ll spend some more time together over Christmas break, really catch up?”

“I’d love that,” Veronica said. “Maybe a spa day together or a little shopping spree in Manhattan?”

“Both,” Betty said with a smile. “Let’s plan on both, V.”

With a final hug, Betty closed the door and went back into the house.

Alice was in the kitchen, packing a brown paper sack with plastic containers. “I packed up the leftovers for Jug,” she explained. “I baked a pan of brownies for him earlier, extra chewy, the way that he likes them.” Alice handed her the bag.

Betty kissed her mother’s cheek. “Thank you so much.”

Alice patted her shoulder. “Have a good night, sweetie. Tell Jughead I send him my best. Fred told me that Jughead is having Thanksgiving dinner with them. But you can let him know that he’s more than welcome to drop by and have some dessert here afterward. Oh! And I want my Tupperware back, so make sure that Jug brings them by.”

****

That night, there was a knock on Jughead’s trailer door. Jughead placed the bookmark into his library book and saved his place. He knew exactly who had come to see him. Jughead swung the door open.

“Hello, Jug.” Betty Cooper was standing in the doorway, smiling at him. She was wearing a pink trench coat and holding a paper bag in her hands.

Jughead’s throat went dry. She was here, in the same room with him. “Betty. Come in, please.”

She walked in and put her purse down on his kitchen table. “My mother sent over some food for you. Chicken Cordon Bleu. And some brownies, too.” She handed him the bag and unbuttoned her coat, hanging it over the back of a chair.

“That was really nice of her.”

Betty looked great, as always, but different. Her hair was longer now; she was wearing it down and it was nearly to her waist. She was very blonde and had a light, golden tan; California living agreed with her. She wore a fuzzy pink sweater and a tight pair of jeans. God, she was so gorgeous.

Betty’s face was locked onto his. “It’s very good to see you, Juggie.”

He felt nervous, rattled, by being so close to her. “I should put these things away.”

He turned and went into the kitchen, placing the boxes in the refrigerator. He hadn’t been sure if Betty would be happy to see him or angry at the way that he’d ended things between them. But she seemed genuinely happy to see him.

When Jughead came back, Betty was sitting on the couch. She was holding a stack of envelopes, held together with a pink rubber band. “These are the letters that I wrote to you while you were gone.”

Jughead sat next to her and took them in his hands. It was a thick stack; she’d written to him many times. “I’m surprised that you kept writing them after I returned the first ones that you sent.” He hadn’t even let himself read her letters; he’d just marked them “Return to Sender,” afraid that if he read her words he would lose the strength to push her away.

Betty shook her head. “I still had things that I wanted to say.” She just sat there, looking at his face, hands in her lap, waiting. She was waiting for him to do something, say something.

For starters, Jughead owed her an apology, face-to-face. “I’m sorry for how I ended things. I know that must have hurt you very much and I’m sorry.”

“It did hurt,” she confirmed. “After everything we’d been through together, I never would have imagined that you would push me away again.”

Jughead met her sad green eyes. He owed her an explanation and he’d imagined this moment, hundreds of times, over the last year and a half. “Making a clean break seemed like the best way to keep you from being hurt. That’s why I wrote you the letter and ended things between us.“

“I still don’t understand why you felt the need to end things.” Betty licked her lips nervously. “It was only a four-year prison sentence, Jug. We’d already planned on being in a long distance relationship during college. Nothing really changed when you left for Shankshaw.”

“Everything changed, Betty. I wasn’t off at college; I was in prison. That changed everything; it had to." Why the hell would a girl like Betty waste her life on a guy like him? Had she really hoped, all this time, that they’d get back together?

Betty reached out and took his hands in hers. Her hands were so warm and soft. She cupped her fingers around his, completely enclosing his fingers with hers. “Jug. I still love you, with all my heart. My feelings haven’t changed. I want very much, to pick up where we left off.”

Jughead forgot how to breathe. He’d never let himself imagine that she would still love him after all this time. He didn’t deserve it. He couldn’t accept it; it wouldn’t be right. She just sat there, her thumb running across his skin, looking at him with her heart in her eyes.

“I, um, I’ll be right back.” Jughead went into the bedroom and closed the door. His heart was pounding; he leaned against it and closed his eyes. He wanted to be with her; he wanted her love. He wanted it so much that it hurt, physically hurt to breathe.

She’d written him letters. He’d written her letters, too. From his closet, he took down a plain cardboard box and carried it into the living room.

He handed her the box and sat down next to her. “I have something for you, too. I didn’t mail my letters; I didn’t think it would be fair since I let you go.”

Betty opened the box and ran her fingers through the envelopes. He’d written her multiple letters a week; there were dozens and dozens. “You wrote all these to me?” She looked over at him, her eyes wide.

“Writing to you...well, it helped keep me sane when I was in prison. It was awful. Worse than I thought it would be. Talking to you, even just in my head, made it bearable. So, thanks for that, Betty.” She’d been a source of comfort for him the entire time, a light in the darkness that he was immersed in.

Betty’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Jug.” She put the box on the table and wrapped her arms around him, holding him close.

Jughead should have let her go, but he didn’t want to. Something gave way inside him and he gave into weakness, selfishness. He still loved her and he wanted to be close to her even if it was just for a moment. He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her tightly. He felt the tension drain from his body as he sank into her embrace and let her comfort him, let her soothe his pain.

“We should have stayed together while you were gone,” Betty whispered.

“I wish we could have, but it felt impossible.” He let her go and it was so hard; he wanted to hold her close and never let her go. “But I thought of you, Betts, every single day.”

Betty took a deep breath and rested her palms on her knees. “I don’t understand. Please, make me understand why you gave up on me, on our future together. I trusted you with everything: my heart, my fears, and my dreams. I thought we were in this together.”

Jughead could vividly remember the panic that had led him to sign the plea bargain. He’d been terrified. “It wasn’t worth fighting anymore. I was completely screwed, Betty. My future was over and I didn’t want to drag you down with me.”

“You didn’t even fight for us. You didn’t try to hold on to what we had!” She shook her head. “You are the love of my life, Jughead. I have never doubted that we’d be together forever.”

“I wanted to be with you forever too,” said Jughead, swallowing hard. “Betty, you are everything I’ve ever wanted, but I never deserved you. I was never good enough for you. Even before prison.”

She cupped his cheek in her hand. “Jughead, you were always good enough. More than good enough; you were everything to me. You _are_ everything to me.” Her eyes were dark and wet and, my God, he saw the love for him in them. She truly loved him, even after everything he’d done.

“I love you,” he said softly. “You’re my first love, my only love. That never changed. It won’t ever change, Betty.”

Betty ran her hand across his jaw. “No one will ever love you as much as I do.” She held his face in her hands and kissed him.

He melted under her touch. No one had touched him like this, not since her, and months of anger and tension and sadness surged through him. He kissed her back, his hands clenched on her face, wanting to hold onto her as long as he could. His heart raced. He’d missed her so much; he’d missed this so much.

She kissed his ear, her mouth gentle against his skin. “It’s been way too long, Jug. I need to be with you.” She put her hands under his shirt, her fingers gliding across his abs, his chest.

Jughead should send her home; he didn’t deserve her love, her touch. But he couldn’t resist her; he’d never been able to. His arousal was immediate and intense. It has been too long without her; he was paper to her flame. “I want you so much,” he whispered in her ear.

She pulled off his shirt and kissed his chest, her mouth on his skin. Her hands caressed his back, running over the muscles of his back and shoulders.

She was wearing entirely too many clothes. With a swift tug, he pulled her sweater over her head. She was so beautiful, flushed and pink. He wanted her naked and in his bed, now.

Jughead picked her up and carried into his bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him. He placed her on his bed and she pulled him down on top of her. Her hands were pulling off his shirt and tugging off his pants even as they kissed. He pulled off her jeans, tossing them across the room.

Jughead moved his mouth along her collarbone. She tasted the same; smelled the same. He ran his hands over her back. “I want to see all of you, touch all of you.” He unfastened her bra, pulled down her panties. She was wet already, ready for him.

He slid down her body and pulled her thighs wide. She was so sweet against his tongue, so wet and warm. It was all so familiar, so right, her taste in his mouth, her cries of pleasure in her ears. She dug her nails into her shoulders and he knew that she was coming second before she moaned his name. “Oh God! Jug! Juggie!”

He pulled away and moved on top of her. “I need you now. Right now,”

“Please, please.” He thrust into her and they both cried out as their bodies came together. She was naked, beautiful, underneath him.

He ran his hands over her body as he moved, giving her all of himself. “Betty, I love you.”

She looked up at him with huge, molten eyes. “I missed making love to you. I missed this so much.”

So had he. He closed his eyes, breathing hard. Making love to Betty always shook him to the core. After so long without her, this reunion was intense, almost painfully so. It was hard to keep in control. It was so overwhelming.

He gripped her hips and thrust inside her. “It’s been so long, Betty.” His thrusts were deep and merciless; he needed her, all of her, and he couldn’t wait anymore.

“This is so good for me, like this. You’re so deep inside me, Jug.”

“I love taking you,” he whispered, thrusting hard into her. “I thought about this every night I was gone.”

“I’m going to come.” Her voice was broken. “Oh my God, this is so good.”

He was going to come, too. “Betty.”

“Jug!” Betty came, her fingers clenched on his forearms.

Jughead felt her surge around him, saw her face flush from her orgasm. He loved the way that she looked when she lost control. “I’m so close.” He was coming now, as lost in her as she had been in him. “Betty, Betty.”

Afterward, they spooned together in bed, their bodies warm and sweaty from sex. He kissed her ear, her neck. “I’ve never wanted anyone else like this,” he whispered in her ear. “It’s always been you.”

“I wasn’t with anyone else while you were gone. It just didn’t feel right.” She turned in his arms to face him and kissed his lips. “I just never gave up hope, that you’d come back to me.” She smiled, her face bright. “And here we are, together again.”

Jughead had never let himself hope they’d be together again. But Betty was here, in his arms. She’d never given up on him, never stopped believing in him. He let himself bask in the warmth of Betty Cooper’s generous heart.

He ran his hand through her long, golden hair. It felt like silk against his fingers. “Do you know how beautiful you are, Betty Cooper?”

She smiled. “Why don’t you tell me?”

He kissed the corner of her mouth, the tip of her nose, the center of her forehead. She had the softest skin and she smelled like she always did, like Ivory soap and rose scented perfume. “You are the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen.”

“Tell me more.” Her eyes were such a dark green, like emeralds.

“You have the rosiest lips and the greenest eyes and the sweetest little freckles, right here on your shoulder.” He kissed each freckle one by one and she laughed. It soothed his soul, the sound of her laughter. He kissed her, thrilling in the taste of her, the feel of her lips against his. He’d wanted to be back in her arms again for so long.

Betty pulled him on top of her and deepened the kiss, and he let himself get lost in her. Every single one of his happiest moments had been with Betty Cooper. This was another.


	4. Stay

Jughead woke up in the morning to the smell of cooking bacon. He pulled on his boxers and walked out to the kitchen, combing through his hair with his fingers.

Betty was cooking breakfast, wearing one of his button-down shirts. She looked over her shoulder and smiled at him. “Good morning, sleepyhead.” God, she was gorgeous. Her legs looked a mile long below the hem of his shirt.

He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “That smells fantastic.” His mouth was literally watering.

“It’s just bacon and eggs, nothing fancy,” she explained. “Can you put some slices of bread in the toaster, Juggie? The food is almost done.”

Minutes later, they were sitting at the kitchen table. Jughead had a plate full of eggs, scrambled just the way he liked them, laced with cheese and sprinkled with lots of black pepper. The bacon was crisp and perfect. He heavily buttered a piece of toast and took a big bite.

“So, I need to head back to Mom’s after breakfast. There's a lot to do, to get the meal ready for Thanksgiving.” She smiled at him. “Would you like to come by and have dessert with us after you have dinner at Fred's?”

“I'd love to.”

Betty smiled at him and nodded, her eyes shining. “Great!"

"I'd like to spend as much time with you as I can before you go back to Stanford." Jughead wanted to soak up every minute with her. "When is your flight to California?"

"My flight leaves Sunday morning."

"That's so soon." Jughead took a bite of eggs and chewed. Their time together would be so short.

"That's true, but my winter break is over a month long," Betty explained. "I'll be back the week before Christmas and we'll have a month together, which will be great. Plus we have this weekend to spend together, too."

Jughead was reminded that this was how Betty saw the world: she always found the silver lining, the good within the bad. "So what do you have planned for the rest of the weekend?"

“I have plans to have lunch at Dad’s tomorrow and help them eat their Thanksgiving leftovers. If you want to come, that would be great. Cheryl makes an incredible pumpkin pie and I know you’d love it.” She bit into a piece of bacon. “If you’re not interested in that, we can meet up afterward, catch a movie at the Bijou, maybe? I looked up the double feature. _Creature from the Black Lagoon_ and _Invasion of the Body Snatchers_.” 

Jughead hadn’t been to the Bijou since he’d been home. “The 1956 _Body Snatchers_ or the 1978 remake?” Only one of those films was acceptable.

She checked her phone. “1956.”

“Have you seen that one before?” Jughead asked her.

“No.” Betty shook her head. “Tell me about it.”

“Oh, Betts, it is so good.” As they ate, Jughead explained to her the general plot and the deeper symbolism. “It’s not really about monsters,” he said excitedly. “It’s about the McCarthy hearings and the witch hunt for Communists-“

There was a loud knock on the door.

Betty looked over at him. “Are you expecting someone?” 

“I can’t think of anyone who would be coming by.”

Jughead got up and opened the door.

It was his parole officer, Mr. Walsh. “Good morning,” he said pleasantly. “I’m here to do a home inspection. Can you let me in, please?”

“Who is that?” Betty picked up her trench coat from the couch and pulled it on over Jughead’s shirt.

Jughead opened the door and let the parole officer in. “Betty, this is my parole officer, Mr. Walsh. Mr. Walsh, Betty Cooper.”

Betty tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear and extended one hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Mr. Walsh shook her hand. “Good morning, miss.”

“If you’ll give me a second,” Jughead gestured at his naked chest. ”I’ll throw on some clothes.”

“I’ll just get started in the kitchen then.” Mr. Walsh went into the kitchen and began opening the cupboards.

Betty looked over at Jughead, her eyes wide.

“Mr. Walsh has the authority to do an unannounced home inspection at any time,” Jughead explained. “So, that’s why he is here.”

Jughead went into the bedroom. Betty’s clothes, bra and underwear were scattered across the floor. He gathered them up in a neat pile and put them on his dresser. He tidied up the tangled mess of his sheets and pulled over the bedspread. Then he quickly threw on a t-shirt and sweatpants and walked back out.

Every cabinet door and drawer in the kitchen was open. Mr. Walsh was sorting through the frozen goods in his freezer, moving things around. What the hell did he think, that Jughead had stashed something illicit in his frozen entrees or ice cube trays? Apparently so; he ripped open a few bags of vegetables and poked around inside.

Betty gave him a sidelong glance. _Really_? She mouthed.

Finally done in the kitchen, Mr. Walsh walked over to the living room sofa and started moving cushions around.

“So, Betty, that’s a nice Lexus parked outside,” said Mr. Walsh. “Don’t see a lot of those on this side of town.” 

Betty gave him a polite smile. “It’s my father’s car. He lives on the Northside, near Riverdale High.”

“Your father must make a very nice living for himself.”

“He owns the _Riverdale Register_ , our local newspaper,” Betty explained.

“That’s very interesting.” Mr. Walsh turned and looked at Betty. “Your father is Hal Cooper? Jughead’s boss?”

Betty nodded. “Yes.”

“Miss Cooper, I hope your father is happy with the relationship between the two of you. I’m not sure if Jughead shared this with you, but if he loses his job and becomes unemployed, he’ll be sent straight back to Shankshaw for the duration of his prison sentence.”

Betty’s face flushed red. Jughead knew that she was about to lose her temper.

“I am not planning on doing anything to risk my job, Mr. Walsh,” Jughead explained. “Betty and I have been in a relationship since we were fifteen and Mr. Cooper is well aware of that fact.”

Betty and Jughead followed Mr. Walsh from room to room in the trailer. He searched absolutely everything, from the inside of closets to under the bed. He went through the medicine cabinet, searched the toilet tank and even uncapped the shampoo bottle and looked inside it. All in all, he spent forty-five minutes tearing Jughead’s trailer apart.

When he was done, he handed Betty his card. “Nice to meet you, Miss Cooper. Jughead, I’ll see you Wednesday for our usual appointment.”

Jughead closed the door behind the parole officer when he left. Betty waited until he got into his car and drove away before she let loose.

“What the hell?” Betty was furious. “How can that guy be allowed to just show up and go through every damn thing that you own and ask personal questions that are none of his business?”

Jughead sighed. “He’s my parole officer, Betty. He is allowed to do everything he just did, Betty.” He’d known about these home visits, but the reality of it had deeply upset him.

“It’s not right,” she said passionately.

“This is why I ended things with you before I went to Shankshaw! To keep you away from the bullshit like this that will happen because I’m a convicted felon!” Jughead lashed out, finally able to unleash the anger and frustration he’d had to hide in front of his parole officer. “I’m on parole, for the next two years! That asshole can come and check up on me, at my work or here, whenever he wants. I can’t leave New York State without permission. I’m not allowed to own a gun or a damn razor blade. I can’t vote; I can’t serve on a jury; I can’t even enlist in the armed services.”

Betty put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Right, Jug, like you’re deeply upset that you can’t join the Marines! Give me a break. The home inspection thing, that sucks. I can’t believe that’s even legal! But the rest of those restrictions? Mildly annoying, sure, but you can put up with it for two years. It isn’t that long a time. None of those things really matter.”

Betty didn’t get it. Jughead was frustrated; he had to make her understand why this was such a big deal. “Betty, can’t you see that these things do matter, a whole lot! I have a criminal record, and that is never going away. Not in two years; not ever.” His felony conviction would be a black mark against him for the rest of his life. “My father’s criminal history kept him from getting reliable work. It’s part of what led him to drink, led him to go back to the Serpents, led to my mom and JB leaving.”

“There’s a very big difference here,” Betty argued. “And I love your father, I genuinely do. But you are not your father. FP really did commit crimes; that’s why he wound up in jail. No one put a gun to his head and made him become an alcoholic. You’ve told me that your mom and dad fought like cats and dogs; that’s why your mom left. It wasn’t your dad’s criminal past that ruined his life. It was the choices he made.”

“And the choices that I made led me to prison,” Jughead countered.

“You didn’t deserve to go to prison!” Betty fumed. “The fact that you _chose_ to take that plea bargain is something I will never understand. Never.”

“I told you about Penny-” Jughead began.

“Penny Peabody threatened me and blackmailed you!” Betty yelled. “So what if she had taken the stand? Your lawyer could have found witnesses too, to show what a horrible, lying sack of shit Penny is! She’s not exactly a sterling character witness! And if you’d asked me, if you’d just given me the damn opportunity to talk to you before you signed that terrible deal, I would have made you understand that!”

Jughead was taken aback by her anger. “I couldn’t risk twenty-five years in prison. It was a gamble I just couldn’t take. I didn’t have a choice, can’t you see that?” How could he possibly make her understand?

Betty turned away from him, hand on hip, and stared at the wall. “You had a choice. I wish you had made a different choice, Jug.” Her voice was hard and sad and broken; she was hurting. “I wish you’d just waited to talk to me. We would have handled it together.”

“I got scared,” he admitted. “The thought of Penny testifying against me, it was frightening and humiliating and I completely panicked. I didn’t take the time to think about all the people who would be hurt when I accepted the plea bargain. I broke my Dad’s heart; I broke yours. I don’t deserve to be with you, not after what I did.” Jughead had known, from the minute Betty had shown up the night before, that he wouldn’t be able to keep her. This was the moment where she’d finally just give up on him. 

She turned to him and her face was calm and soft. “There’s no use rehashing the past; I want to look toward the future. The worst part is already over. You’re home now, you’re free.” Betty pulled him close to her; with her fingers, she brushed his hair away from his face. “I know that you are really rattled by that jackass coming here. Baby, it’s okay.”

“You should let me go,” Jughead replied, his voice cracking with emotion. “I’m just going to drag you down and ruin your life, Betty.”

Betty cupped Jughead’s cheek with her hand. “You’re an innocent man who just spent a year and a half in prison. Don’t you think you deserve a little happiness now?”

“With my criminal record, I’ll never be able to be the kind of partner that you deserve. You deserve someone who can build a future with you.”

“Jughead, you’re the partner that I want. I’ve known that since I was fifteen and I’ve never changed my mind. How about you, Juggie?” She stroked his cheek with her thumb. “Am I still the one that you want?”

Jughead let out a long sigh. “Of course you are, Betty, but it’s not that simple.”

She kissed him gently on the lips. “Yes, it is, Jug.” She turned away and walked into the bedroom.

Jughead sat on the couch, torn. Of course he wanted to be with Betty. He loved from the very bottom of his soul and that would never change. But he was afraid that being with him would hurt her future. He didn’t want to ruin the rest of her life. He valued her happiness far more than his own.

A few minutes later Betty came out fully dressed, pulling on her coat. She put her hands on Jughead’s shoulders and looked into his eyes.

“I have laid out all my cards on the table, Jug,” Betty said passionately. “I love you. I want to be with you. I want that future that we dreamed of, building a life and a family together. And that’s still what you want too or you would have sent me packing last night.”

“I do want a future with you,” Jughead admitted. “But Betty, you deserve better so much better than some ex-con who lives in a trailer park.”

“Is that how you see yourself, truly?” Betty picked up his beanie from the kitchen table and set it on his head. “Because that’s not how I see you, not at all.” She cupped his jaw in her hand and gently kissed his lips. “When I look at you, I see a writer, a romantic, a pure and gentle soul. That’s you, Jug. That’s the man I love.”

Betty grabbed her purse and the box of letters Jughead had written to her and left, closing the trailer door behind her.

****

Jughead took a long, hot shower and thought about everything that had happened. Betty would only be home for a few more days. If he wanted to be with her, he needed to make a decision. Take a gamble and try to make things work or truly let her go.

No matter how much he wanted Betty, he couldn’t convince himself that being together was in her best interest. No matter how he turned the situation over in his head, it would hurt Betty. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her further; he’d already put her through enough.

He went out to the kitchen and made some coffee, still fuming that Mr. Walsh had touched every fucking thing he owned. He sat down at the table. Still there, in a tidy pile, were Betty’s letters.

He rifled through them. There were sixty-two letters in all. She’d arranged them chronologically. At random, he pulled one out, removed it from the envelope and began to read.

_So, it’s prom night. I bought a very pretty dress (pink tulle, strapless), went and had my hair done, had a manicure and a pedicure (petal pink polish). I got all dressed up and I looked very pretty, Jug. You would have loved it, how I looked tonight._

_Then Kevin came to the door, dressed in his tux, and I had a panic attack. A full on, couldn’t breathe, chest pain, doubled over, panic attack. My mom freaked out, wanted to call 911. Poor Kev had to tell my mom that he’d seen me have one before and he knew what to do. He lay next to me on the foyer floor, holding my hand, while my body remembered how to breathe again.  
_

_So the rest of my prom night was spent on the couch with Kev. We watched Spongebob Squarepants and ate three pints of Ben and Jerry’s. I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay Kev for what he did for me tonight. He is a loyal and stalwart friend and I love him for it._

_You should have been here, Jug, at the door in that tux. It should have been you, tonight._

Jughead took a deep breath and wiped away his tears. He picked another letter.

_The twins were here for Christmas. I got to see them twice, once at Mom’s and once at Dad’s. This is how things are now, with my two Christmases. You remember how weird it was that last Christmas we had together, going back and forth between Mom and Dad?_

_Believe me, it is even weirder now that Dad’s Christmas involves Penelope and Cheryl. Without you here to hold my hand, give me knowing little glances, smile at me, it’s torture. There’s singing and wassailing and Christmas crackers and a Yule log. Good lord, do the Blossoms love Christmas._

_The highlight of Christmas Eve dinner at Mom’s was my mother drinking an entire bottle of Zinfandel by herself and crying. Good times. Polly sat on the edge of the couch the entire time, looking like she was ready to bolt. I couldn’t blame her. Meanwhile, Dag and Junie tore into a great big mountain of presents, screaming over and over. My God, the screaming._

_Two-year-olds, they are INSANE, Juggie. They bite, they hit; they throw themselves on the floor and scream. Polly believes in “giving them the freedom to express themselves” which boils down to her sitting there, doing nothing, while they create complete and utter chaos._

_We never talked about having kids. I mean, you made a few comments about “having a family someday” but we never talked specifics, not that I remember. Were you thinking two kids or twenty? Would they have insanely formal names, Forsythe? Or maybe hippie names, like Sage or Oak or Sky._

_Me? I kind of like Sky. It reminds me of beautiful things. A blue, cloudless sky, on a perfect day, with just the right breeze. Remember that day that we had a picnic down at the Sweetwater River? It was the most beautiful, most perfect day we ever had together. Your mouth tasted like strawberries. I’d never heard you laugh so much. I never would again, but I didn’t know that at the time._

_Your Christmas present this year is, if I may compliment myself, perfect. When you get out, you’re going to have a big pile of gifts to unwrap. All these holidays that you’ve missed, being in Shankshaw instead of here with me. Some days, Jug, I hate you for this. And then I feel guilty because I love you more than I could ever hate you._

With shaking hands, Jughead pulled out another letter.

_Have you ever been to a fraternity party? I don’t think so. You kind of hate parties and frat guys are not your kind of people. Well, I went to my first fraternity party here at Stanford. My roommate, Lainey, insisted that I double date with her boyfriend, Greg, and his roommate, Lars._

_So, I went on a date with a guy called Lars. Lars looked a heck of a lot like what you’d imagine a Lars to look like: very tall, very blond, and built like a Norse God. Lars is an electrical engineering major. And do you know how I know that? Because it is ALL HE TALKS ABOUT. The guy looks like Thor but talks like the most boring, dry textbook you’ve ever read._

_You know how you get through a date like that? Jell-O shots and a whole lot of them._

_Lime was my favorite, I think. Orange was vile. Raspberry was delicious._

_I kissed Lars at the end of the night. It was a pretty decent kiss. Veronica asked for a rating; I gave it a solid six out of ten. Kisses with you? Always a ten out of ten. You’ve ruined me for other men. I bet that was your nefarious plan. You just wanted to win me over with your amazing kisses._

_Well, it worked, you dick. So now I need to wait three more years (hopefully less) to get a decent kiss. Despite the advice of my best friend and my roommate, I just can’t get over you. So I’m not even going to try, anymore._

_Not that one date and one kiss is making much of an effort, I must admit._

****

The huge Thanksgiving meal that Fred had made was all the classics: stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy, turkey, green bean casserole. Jughead sat down at the kitchen table with Fred and Archie and piled his plate high. Archie’s plate had even more food on it.

“So I need to shop for a new pair of winter boots,” said Archie. “Winter in Wisconsin is no joke, Jughead. I need serious treads, serious warmth or I’m going to lose a toe.”

“I’m pretty sure you need that toe to stay on the football team,” said Fred.

Archie laughed, his loud guffaw making Jughead smile. “Yeah, it would be good to keep all my toes!”

Fred patted Archie on his shoulder. “I still can’t believe you’re the quarterback at a Big Ten school! My kid, playing in games that are nationally televised.”

“You know that Mom has been to see every one of my home games?” Archie asked. “I’m so much closer to Mom in Chicago; it’s been great to see her more.”

“I get up there as much as I can,” Fred said to Jughead. “Mary and I we are damn proud of our boy.”

Archie smiled at his dad, his mouth full of food.

There was a knock on the Andrews’ door.

Fred looked at Archie. “You expecting any guests?”

Archie swallowed his food. “No. Veronica is having dinner with her parents in Manhattan right now. Some fancy hotel buffet.”

“Maybe a neighbor who’s short an egg or a stick of butter for their holiday meal?” Fred got up and went to answer the door.

“This stuffing is so good.” Jughead shoved another forkful in his mouth. 

“It’s Stove Top,” said Archie. “They sell it in every grocery store in America.” 

Betty Cooper walked into the kitchen with Fred close behind her. She was all dressed up for Thanksgiving in a blue plaid dress with little puff sleeves. Her legs were golden tan and looked very long in her tall heels. Damn, Betty looked beautiful.

Jughead got up and kissed her cheek. “Hey, Betts. You look great.”

“You look really nice,” Arch chimed in.

Betty grinned. “Thanks, boys.”

Fred opened the door to the pantry and began to rummage around. “I have a bag in here somewhere, Betty.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing you later for dessert,” said Jughead. He reached out and stroked Betty’s hand with his thumb. ”What time would you like me to be there?”

She raised one eyebrow. “So you’ll come?”

“I will be there,” Jughead confirmed. “I’m looking forward to spending time with you.”

“Come on over when you’re done eating.” Betty stroked her hand down his arm, her eyes on his. “You can help me set up the dessert buffet.”

Jughead really wanted to kiss her right then, and he knew she was thinking about it too, from the gleam in her eyes.

Fred pulled out a bag of chocolate chips from the pantry. “Aha! I knew they were here somewhere, Betty.”

Betty took the bag of chips from him. “You’re a lifesaver, Mr. Andrews. Apparently Junie and Dag won’t eat pie, so Mom wanted to whip up a batch of cookies for them.”

Fred smiled at her, his eyes wrinkling at the corners. “Glad I could help in your time of need.”

“If you’d like to join us for dessert in an hour, we have enough to feed all three of you, Mr. Andrews,” Betty offered.

“I appreciate that invitation,” said Fred. “We will pack up our cherry and pumpkin pies and come on over.”

“Great!” Betty kissed Jughead’s cheek and left with the bag of chocolate in her hands.

Fred and Jughead sat back down at the table and resumed eating.

“Veronica said she thought the two of you were back together,” Archie noted. “You guys definitely seem together.”

“We have some kinks to work out,” Jughead admitted. “But yeah. We’re definitely back together again.”

“You’re very lucky Betty gave you the time of day after the way you broke things off,” Fred stated. “I will never forget the look on her face when she read your letter, Jug. You broke that girl’s heart.”

“I don’t deserve her, I know that,” Jughead said quietly.

Fred looked over with a frown. “I never said that, Jug, and I don’t think that’s true. I know you did what you thought was best at the time, breaking things off. But that girl has a very forgiving heart.”

“Not everyone is quite as forgiving.” Archie pointed out. “Veronica, for one, thinks you’re bad news for Betty. She’s not thrilled that the two of you are back together, Jug.” 

“Well, it’s a good thing that I never cared that much about Veronica’s opinion,” Jughead said flatly. He picked up another roll and buttered it. “I respect the fact that she’s the girl you love, and Betty’s best friend, but I don’t really care if my relationship gets the Veronica Lodge seal of approval.” All he cared about was Betty’s happiness. She loved him and wanted to be with him. He was going to do his best to make her happy and be worthy of her devotion to him. Veronica’s opinion wasn’t even a blip on the radar.

“That’s not true! You guys had become good friends by senior year,” Archie protested.

Jughead rolled his eyes and shook his head. “We’d learned to tolerate each other. Not quite the same thing.”

Fred pointed out. “It doesn’t much matter, who approves of who. You’re scattered all across the country from each other right now. It’s not like the four of you are going to be hanging out in a booth at Pop’s every night.”

****

An hour later, Betty answered the door at the Cooper house. 

Jughead handed her one of the pies that Fred had baked. “I come bearing gifts.”

Betty kissed his cheek. “Welcome to chaos central.”

It sure sounded like it; the shrieks of crying children filled the air.

“Whoa, somebody’s not happy.”

Jughead followed Betty through the house and the noise increased in volume.

When they reached the dining room, Alice Cooper stood up and hugged him hard. “It’s good to have you back home, Jug.”

He smiled and hugged her back. “Thank you, Alice.”

Polly Cooper stood up and gave Jughead a quick hug, too. “Good to see you, Jug. You remember my twins, June and Dag?”

The two kids were lying on the floor, having major temper tantrums amidst scattered pieces of a wooden train set. They both had shoulder length blond hair and were wearing overalls, so Jug had no idea which child was which.

“Wow, they are both so big. How old are they now?” Jughead asked.

“They turn four in January,” Polly replied. She looked tired; Jughead felt sorry for her. Her children’s ear-splitting cries had to be hard to deal with.

“What are they so upset about?” Jughead inquired.

“Mom told them that they weren’t allowed to play with their trains in the dining room,” Betty replied.

“Well they can’t,” Alice said firmly. “Company is arriving in a few minutes and we cannot have children underfoot with hot beverages and the good china on the table.”

“We could be less formal, Mom,” Polly protested. “It’s just a family meal. You don’t need to impress everyone with your Martha Stewart routine.”

“When you host Thanksgiving at your house, you can make the rules,” Alice replied, her voice sharp.

Polly looked really annoyed. “You don’t need to be so rigid, Mom. When we go to Dad’s, Penelope goes out of her way to make the kids feel comfortable.”

It was Alice’s turn to look really annoyed. “Well, your father’s wife-“

Jughead interrupted what looked like to be a really unpleasant turn in the conversation. “Alice, Fred and Archie are headed over soon, so why don’t I lend a hand and help you set out the desserts?”

Betty gave him a grateful look. “I’ll help Polly get the kids situated in the living room with their train set, Mom.”

In the kitchen, Jughead listened to Alice’s instructions and grabbed a cake plate and a pie. He went back and forth to the kitchen, helping her get the dessert course ready.

This was all very familiar. Jughead had spent a lot of time in the Cooper house during his relationship with Betty. After her parent’s divorce, Jughead had frequently been pressed into service as the man of the house. Alice had asked him to carry things, move things around, and fix things around the house. Ironically, Betty was the one who actually fixed everything; Jughead had learned a lot from watching her do home repairs.

Soon the dining room was full of chatting people eating dessert. Alice had invited several other friends and neighbors; the McCoys were here, including Josie, and Kevin and his dad, too.

“Jug!” Kevin embraced him, slapping his hands on his shoulders. “Great to see you, man!” He smiled at the two of them. “Bughead rises again, I see! I never doubted that it would.”

Betty smiled. “Thanks, Kev.”

Kevin kissed her cheek. “California agrees with you. You look gorgeous and golden.”

Jughead and Betty were being regaled with Kevin’s tales of life as drama major at Brown when Archie and Veronica walked in, with Fred close behind.

Veronica came over and hugged Betty. “Surprise!”

“I didn’t expect to see you tonight!” Betty replied.

“We wrapped up Thanksgiving dinner by two,” Veronica explained. “My parents made a reservation on the earlier side this year.”

“So I get to spend more time with my girl.” Archie pulled her close and kissed her.

Veronica turned to Jughead. “So, welcome home. I know that you’ve been greatly missed.” She gave him a polite smile.

“It’s very good to be home,” Jughead replied. “Thank you, Veronica.” He thought of Archie’s words, that Veronica was against his relationship with Betty, and decided that polite and brief was the right approach in conversation with her.

As time went by, Jughead ate several pieces of pecan pie, as well as slices of pumpkin, cherry and apple. When he took a slice of lemon chiffon cake, he attracted the attention of Alice Cooper.

“I’d forgotten what ungodly amounts of food you can shove in your body,” Alice noted.

“I’m sure that the food in prison wasn’t nearly as good,” Veronica commented. Her tone was cutting; Veronica wasn’t trying to hide her contempt.

“You wouldn’t like the cafeteria at Shankshaw, Veronica. It doesn’t even have one Zagat star,” Jughead quipped. Man, Veronica could be such a bitch.

Betty glared at Veronica. “Can I speak to you for a minute in the kitchen, Veronica?”

“No need, Betty.” Jughead put his hand on Betty’s shoulder. “It’s something that I’m going to have to get used to. People are going to make pointed comments about my time in prison for the rest of my life.”

“Not if they are polite,” Alice snapped.

Veronica met Alice’s glare with a surprised expression. “I didn’t mean any offense, Mrs. Cooper,” she said in a saccharine tone.

“Yes you did.” Alice glared at Veronica. “It is the height of bad taste to antagonize Jughead about his past. He is a member of this family; if you can’t be respectful, get out of my house.”

“I think we should go.” Archie put his hand on Veronica’s shoulder.

“I think that would be best.” Betty was clearly upset; Jughead’s presence had ruined her Thanksgiving and embarrassed her.

“No, I should be the one to go.” Jughead put down his plate on the table and left the house.

He hadn’t even made it off the front step when Betty caught up with him and put her hand on his arm. “Jug, please don’t leave.”

He turned around and looked at her. “This would be a prime example of why being together is a terrible idea! Do you think Veronica’s going to be he only one who says stuff like that?” Jughead’s voice was passionate. “I love you and you deserve more out of life than settling for an ex-con on parole!”

“I am well aware that you just got out of prison, Jughead! Do you really think I give a damn that people know that about you?” She clasped his hands in hers. “None of this matters. The only thing that matters is how we feel about each other.”

“I can’t stand to see people hurt you because of me, Betts.”

“I’m not hurt, Jug, I’m angry. I expect the people in my life to treat the man I love with respect. That’s not negotiable.” Betty’s eyes flashed with anger.

“Maybe I don’t deserve their respect,” Jughead said quietly.

“Juggie, that’s just not true.” Betty stroked his thumb with hers. “Please, please stop running away from me. Just stay.”

Betty was always so gentle and kind to him. Jughead’s defenses crumbled; she truly cared about him. “I don’t understand why you still love me, even after all the things I’ve put you through.” It was a mystery to him, why she refused to give up on him. Jughead put his arms around her waist and leaned his forehead against hers.

“Because when I look at you I don’t see all your flaws,” Betty whispered. “I see all of your talents, your strengths, all of the wonderful qualities that I fell in love with.”

He kissed her, holding her tight. Betty Cooper was the one good thing in his entire crappy existence. He’d be an idiot to let her go again. Miraculously, he had a second chance to have her in his life.

“Betty, I’m not sure how we will build a future together. There are a lot of obstacles that we’ll have to deal with. But I want you to know that I’m willing to try.” He kissed her and her lips were so soft, so warm. “I’m going to try my best to be the person you see when you look at me.”

She cupped his cheek in her hand. “I have faith in you, Jug, even if you don’t have faith in yourself right now. But I trust that in time, you’ll find it.”

****

That night, Jughead wrote about a subject that he’d avoided entirely in his memoir: Betty. He began with his first memories of her, of her sweet little smile and her friendliness, and went on to describe how he slid headlong into love with her, with this razor sharp, complicated girl who looked like a beauty queen and had the brains of Sherlock Holmes. He wrote all night, pouring out all the thoughts and feelings that he hadn’t permitted himself to think of since the day he left for prison.

Betty Cooper still loved him. It seemed like a miracle, one that he didn’t deserve.

****

The day after Thanksgiving, Jughead rang the doorbell of Thistlehouse. Penelope answered the door with a smile. “Jughead! I’m so glad that you could join us for lunch.” 

Penelope led him to the large eat-in kitchen. Betty, Hal and Cheryl were sitting at a huge cherry wood kitchen table, eating. The long marble kitchen island was covered with platters and bowls and plates of Thanksgiving food. Everything looked amazing.

Hal looked over at him with a smile. “Oh, good. I know that I can count on you to help eat these leftovers, Jug. Pen made enough food for an army and when the girls head back home it’s going to be just the two of us left to eat it.”

“Well, this all looks delicious. Thanks for having me.”

“Anytime, Jughead.” Penelope handed him a plate and fork. “The pies are in the refrigerator; everything else is laid out.”

Jughead made a heaping plate of food and sat down next to Betty. She gave him a quick smile and patted his knee under the table.

“You have to try my pumpkin pie,” said Cheryl. “It’s amazing.”

“I already told him that your pie was to die for,” said Betty.

“I am looking forward to eating it,” Jughead assured her. 

As Jughead ate, Cheryl and Betty had a conversation about an upcoming fashion show at FIT in New York. Cheryl, it seemed, was in college for fashion design.

“So Jug.” Hal looked over at him. “Are you kids going to stay, watch the game? Giants versus Cowboys. It’s going to be a bloodbath.”

“No football, Dad,” said Betty. “We’re going to the Bijou to see a movie after this.”

Hal sighed. “I was hoping with you back with Betty, Jug, that I’d get a little more testosterone in this house. I need someone to watch football with. None of the girls care to join me.”

“Call Fred,” Jughead suggested. “He loves football. I guarantee he’ll come over.”

“We haven’t hung out in years.” Hal looked thoughtful. “Alice never liked him, that was part of the problem.”

“Well, I think Fred Andrews is a lovely man,” said Penelope. “Invite him over, Hal. We have plenty of food and beer.”

Jughead polished off his plate of food. Everything had been delicious.

“Are you ready for pie or are you going back for seconds?” Cheryl asked.

“I am ready for this famous pumpkin pie of yours,” said Jughead.

Cheryl’s pie really was amazing. Buttery flaky crust; creamy pumpkin puree and a strong flavor of ginger and cloves. But there was another flavor in there, too: maple syrup. Of course, Cheryl’s secret ingredient had to be maple syrup. 

“Can you give Betty the recipe for this pie?” Jughead asked. “Because I need to eat this again. Like, repeatedly.”

Cheryl laughed. “Blossom family recipe,” she said. “But if you’re going to join us for Christmas, I’ll make one just for you.” She raised one eyebrow. “Will you be joining us for Christmas?”

“Jug and I haven’t discussed Christmas plans yet.” Betty turned to him. “My plans are for Christmas Eve dinner at Mom’s; Christmas Day here.” Her eyes searched his; she wanted to know if that was something he wanted.

“I understand that you really go all out for Christmas,” Jughead said to Cheryl. “Wassailing, singing, Christmas crackers. What exactly is wassailing, though?”

Betty gave him a surprised glance. Now she knew that he had read that letter.

“My dear neglected boy,” said Cheryl. “Wassailing is an essential part of Christmas. You’ve never had a real Christmas without it. You’ve been sorely deprived.”

“Well, I’ll have to rectify that this Christmas.” Jughead wanted to spend Christmas with Betty, be there for her as she navigated her two Christmases, and find out what exactly wassailing was. It all sounded a hell of a lot more fun than sitting by himself in an empty trailer.

****  
After lunch, they walked down the street together hand-in-hand.

“So, are you excited for the double feature?” asked Jughead.

“I am,” said Betty. “We have an invitation for another thing, before the movie. Veronica wants to see us.”

“I’m not sure that’s a great idea,” Jughead replied. “I know she means a lot to you. It really upset you, that scene at your mom’s. I don’t want to cause more drama for you.”

“I told her that if she doesn’t apologize to you then we’re no longer friends.”

Jughead stopped in his tracks. “Betty, no.”

“Jughead, yes.” Betty shrugged. “I really don’t need the negativity in my life. I have enough stress at the moment. We’re in a long distance relationship right now. I have a very demanding class schedule and a part-time job. I don’t need to make time in my life for someone who’s just going to criticize how I want to live my life. So, if she wants to continue our friendship, she’s going to have to change her tune.”

Jughead tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I have no idea why you think I’m worth it.”

“I know you don’t,” said Betty. “We need to work on that together. You’ve never had what I would call fantastic self-esteem. But being in prison, it’s just completely broken you down. We need to build you back up, make you believe in yourself.”

He wanted to make a sarcastic comment; that would only prove her point. “I’m not sure that I’m fixable,” he admitted.

She kissed his cheek. “As a therapist-to-be, I assure you that everyone is fixable. And I hate to break it to you, but your issues are very common, garden-variety dysfunction. You are the textbook definition of the adult child of an alcoholic. As in, you tick every box on the list.”

"Really?” Jughead asked. “It’s a simple as that. Drunk dad equals fucked up kids?”

She nodded. “Yes. Just like having an overly critical, emotionally withholding mother makes fucked up kids, too.”

“So, how do you un-fuck yourself up?” Jughead asked. “As a therapist-to-be, I assume you know.”

“Well, therapy,” said Betty. “Working with a therapist has truly changed my life. Support groups are great, too, and statistically adult children of alcoholics do better when they share their experiences in a group setting.”

“Okay, say I don’t want to talk to someone, either one-on-one or in a group. What then?” asked Jughead.

“I can give you a reading list of books with specific strategies,” Betty offered.

“So a few books and I’ll be cured?” He squeezed her hand.

“It just might help,” Betty said.

“Send me your list; I’ll start reading.”

She looked over at him, her cheeks pink from cold. “Will you really?”

“I would do anything for you, Betty,” Jughead said softly.

They reached Pop’s and walked up the steps together. Inside, Archie and Veronica were in their usual booth. Four milkshakes sat on the table; their standard order.

This felt like a true homecoming. Pop’s had been too tied up with memories of Betty. Jughead hadn’t been through the doors since his release from jail.

Betty’s hand held tightly to Jughead's as they slid into the booth. 

“I’m glad that you could make it,” said Veronica.

“We can’t stay long,” said Betty, her tone clipped. “We have plans to go to the Bijou.”

Veronica pulled a wrapped gift off her seat and slid it across the table to Jughead. “A peace offering.”

Jughead unwrapped the box. Inside was a thick book bound in black leather, filled with blank, lined pages. Lastly, there was a shiny silver pen and a box of ink cartridges.

“It’s a new chapter of your story, Jughead,” Veronica said softly. “I thought this would help you get started.”

Jughead was truly touched. “Thank you. This is really generous.”

“If you don’t like the journal, you can trade it in for something else-“ she said hurriedly.

“It’s perfect,” Jughead said. “It’s beautiful. I will use the journal and the pen every day.”

“I wish you and Betty all the best. I think that I’ve been unfair. Really unfair.” She met his eyes with a direct gaze. “I’m sorry. I hope you can forgive me and we can rebuild our friendship.”

“We were never friends,” Jughead reminded her. “We just put up with each other to appease Betty and Archie.”

Veronica laughed. “That’s true, isn’t it?”

“So, in the spirit of starting a new chapter, Ronnie, why don’t you catch me up on what you’ve been up to the last two years?”

Betty had one hand on Jughead’s thigh and a smile on her lips as she listened to her friend recount her struggles as a fashion design major.

Jughead would do anything to keep Betty Cooper happy.

******

Betty lay in Jughead’s bed, curled in his arms. It was their last night together. In the morning, her flight left for California. 

Jughead stroked Betty’s arm. “I’m going to miss you.” He gave her a longing look and she kissed him.

“Four weeks is nothing,” Betty assured him. “I’ll be back before you know it.” She was putting on a brave face; leaving him was going to hurt. She could already feel the pain creeping in, even with his arms around her. 

He kissed the tip of her nose. “I wish you didn’t have to go.” 

“I wish I could pack you in my suitcase.” Betty sighed. “You’d love California, Jug. It’s so beautiful out there.”

“When I’m done with my parole I’ll come there,” said Jughead. “My probation will be over in time to see you graduate.”

Betty smiled, imagining Jughead in the crowd at Stanford to see her receive her degree. “That’s wonderful.”

“We can do two years.” Jughead looked over at her, his eyes warm. “Right?”

“Walk in the park.” Betty kissed him. They’d just made love, but she wanted him again. She always wanted him.

He played with a lock of her hair. “I didn’t read all of your letters yet, just a few. While you’re back in California, I’ll ration them out. Read a few each day until you come home for Christmas.” 

“We can talk every day if you want to. My schedule is very busy, but I promise you I will find time for you.” Now that Jughead was back in her life, she wanted to keep that connection close, even though they would be far apart.

“My cell phone only has pay-as-you-go minutes,” Jughead explained. “But maybe we could use Skype?”

“That would be even better because then I could see your face.” She squeezed his hand.

He rolled onto his side. “Betty, I really want to be the best partner for you I can,” he said passionately. “I’d like to be less...damaged. Eighteen months in Shankshaw definitely didn’t help things. It was extremely hard to deal with what life was like inside that place.”

Betty wanted to understand what he was going through. “Do you want to talk to me about your life in prison?” She wanted to listen if he was willing to open up.

“Read my letters first,” Jughead suggested, ”and then we can talk about any part of it you want.” He stroked her arm again. “Betty, sometimes it’s hard to believe that I’m really out and back at home with you.”

“Well, believe it.” Betty pulled him on top of her, her mouth moving to his neck. “Let me give you something to believe in, Juggie.”


	5. Where We Gonna Go From Here

Betty’s trip back to California was a nightmare. Her bubble of happiness from her reunion with Jughead was completely decimated by the time she got to Cleveland. Her flight had been delayed at LaGuardia due to weather; she’d missed her connecting flight from Cleveland to San Francisco.

“I’m sorry,” said the gate agent. “There are no more flights out tonight. We can put you on the next flight to San Francisco. It leaves tomorrow morning at eight-thirty am.”

“Tomorrow morning?” Betty raised her eyebrows. “I’m supposed to be back in class at Stanford tomorrow morning!”

“I’m so sorry, but there’s nothing we can do.”

So Betty took an airport shuttle to the Hilton, turned in her voucher for a free room and set up her laptop.

In her college career, she’d never missed a class. She emailed all three of her professors for tomorrow, apologizing for her absence. She sent another letter of apology to her abnormal psych study group; she was supposed to be taking the lead on the study session on schizophrenia. 

Betty called her dad and bitched about how she never wanted to be booked on a connecting flight again because it was always a pain in the ass and things inevitably went wrong. 

“Dad, you only built in a forty-five-minute layover in Cleveland with these plane tickets,” Betty complained. “That’s not enough time! You need to give me at least a two-hour window.”

“Betty, I booked the cheapest thing I could find on Expedia,” said Hal. “These cross-country flights aren’t cheap, Betty-bear, and I’m trying to get the best deal I can.”

Betty immediately felt guilty. “I’m sorry. I sound like an ungrateful brat.”

“No, honey, I’m sure you’re just tired and frustrated after your long flight.” He paused. “So, we haven’t talked about this. I know you’re going to tell me it’s none of my business. But it was nice to see you and Jughead together again. That was the first smile I’ve seen on that kid’s face since he got out of Shankshaw. And it was so nice to see you with your sparkle back.”

“Being with Jug makes me very happy,” said Betty. “I’ve missed him more than I can say.”

Hal paused, then continued. “You know, Jughead’s criminal record, that’s going to be hard to get past. It’s going to be a problem for the rest of his life, that felony conviction.”

“Jug didn’t do anything wrong, Dad. What happened wasn’t his fault.”

“I know that.” Hal sighed. “And I think it’s worth trying to do something about it. Maybe there’s a way to get his record expunged, to get a pardon, something. The kid doesn’t deserve to have this hanging over his head forever. Fred and I talked about this when he came over to watch the game last night. We’re putting our heads together.”

Betty was filled with hope. “Do you think it’s possible?”

“Don’t get your hopes up, Betty, but I will let you know what I find out.”

She tried to call Jughead but got his voicemail. She missed him; she wanted to hear his voice. She had something that would give her that, though.

Betty took the box of Jughead’s letters from her suitcase and set them on the bed. She opened them up and stacked them into one big pile, from the first letter to the last. She was holding at least two hundred pieces of paper, all covered in Jughead’s cramped, jagged handwriting.

_I can’t sleep. They leave the lights on all night. There’s no quiet; there’s always screaming, yelling somewhere. The guy in the cell next door keeps banging something against the bars. My cellmate snores._

_It’s tempting to flip out, to just start screaming until they haul me away. But if they put me in solitary, that goes on my record._

_I can’t be in here for four years. It seems impossible. I don’t even know how I’m going to get through tonight._

She read letter after letter. The petty humiliations of prison life: no privacy, horrible food, making license plates in the prison shop for nineteen cents an hour.

_I’ve started going to church on Sunday. I know, you’re laughing. Jughead Jones, avowed atheist, going to church. I’d finally win some brownie points with your mom for that one, right?_

_But it’s not so much the service I care about; I like the silence. A room full of people quietly listening to someone speak is a rarity here. I can just close my eyes, in apparent prayer, and listen to a quiet room for an hour a week._

_It helps take the edge off. It gives me hope and hope is sorely lacking here._

She read for hour after hour, her eyes burning, but she couldn’t stop.

_I’ve never been the star pupil before but, my God, I am the king of my GED class. The workbook for the class is stuff that we learned in Miss Hansen’s class back in sixth grade. But nonetheless, that’s what we are being tested on. I’m getting every answer right. Most of the other guys are struggling. I help hem as much as I can. It’s actually gone a long way to help me out. Friendly faces in the yard; making a place for me to sit at meals. Who knew that having a grasp of basic educational information would be the golden ticket to making life in this fucking place a degree more bearable? Dad would be proud._

She was near the end of the stack when she read a letter that made her sit up straight, stunned.

_I have a secret. I know, what the hell could I have a secret about? Your mom. She has sworn me to secrecy._

_She comes every two weeks. She sits with me at a table in the visiting room. Mostly she talks a lot about Chic, how she failed Chic, how she never should have given him away, and she cries. She cries every time._

_Every visit, she puts fifty dollars in my commissary account. Your mother’s money is keeping me in chocolate bars and paper and envelopes and pens. I never thought she liked me that much when we were together. I don’t really know why she comes here, now._

_I don’t understand the connection that she sees, between your brother and I. So I asked her, this last visit, why she comes to see me._

_She blinked hard and looked at me with that patented Alice Cooper look. You know, the one that makes you feel two inches tall?_

_“You’re family, Jughead.”_

_Does she think that when I’m out, that we’ll be back together? Is that how she sees me, has seen me, all this time? Family. Her daughter and her daughter’s boyfriend. To her, we’re still Betty-and-Jughead. A unit._

_Is that how you think of me, too, Betts? Think of us? Are we still Betty-and-Jughead for you, too?_

It was five in the morning when Betty finished the box of letters. She cried, in a dark hotel room in Cleveland, remembering all the pain and misery that Jughead had shared with her in his letters.

He’d been through hell in Shankshaw. She prayed, with all her heart, that he’d be able to put it behind him.

****

Between mechanical trouble with her plane in Cleveland and the horrific traffic from San Francisco to Stanford, Betty arrived back on campus just in time to make her abnormal psych study session. From there, she went to work, taking a last-minute stakeout at the request of her boss. 

All in all, it was well after midnight by the time she made it back to her dorm. Lainey was sleep in her bed, her comforter pulled over her head.

Betty tried to be as quiet as possible as she got ready for bed. She sat down on her bed and grabbed the bottle of vitamins and her packet of birth control pills from the bedside table. It was the last thing she did at night, taking her pills with a swig from her water bottle. It was only then that she realized what she’d done. 

She’s left her pills behind when she’d gone home. She’d flown home on Wednesday; it was early Tuesday morning now.

She’d missed six pills.

Betty freaked out. She grabbed her pack of pills and her cell phone and left her room. She walked down the hall, looking for a private space. There was no one in the laundry room. She went inside and closed the door.

Pacing, she called Veronica.

“Holy FUCK, B, do you know what time it is?” Veronica hissed into her phone. “What the hell?”

“I’m freaking out,” said Betty. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Wait, Betty. Are you having a panic attack? Is that what’s happening?”

“No, I’m having a crisis! Veronica, I missed six of my birth control pills. SIX.”

“Oh shit,” Veronica said very softly.

“What do I do? Please, please, please help me.” Betty wasn’t having a panic attack yet, but boy, it wouldn’t be long now. 

“Go to the drugstore, get Plan B and take it right now. Do it now.”

“Okay, okay.” Betty left the laundry room and headed down the stairs.

“It’s going to be okay. Do you want me to stay on the phone with you, talk you through it?” asked Veronica.

Betty loved her friend so much. “No, V. Go back to sleep. I love you.”

“Call me later. I love you too.” Veronica hung up.

Betty called an Uber and waited for the car downstairs in her lobby. She couldn’t deal with driving at the moment; she was so close to completely freaking out. When the guy arrived, she realized that she was in her pajamas, wearing her bedroom slippers.

Thankfully, she could pay with her phone at the drugstore. She found the Plan B, paid for it and headed back to her dorm.

At two in the morning, Betty sat on the floor in the bathroom, holding the box of emergency contraceptive. There was a long sheet of instructions: what to expect, possible side effects. Betty, normally a stickler for reading and following the directions, could not bear to read this. She was exhausted; she was angry with herself, and she didn’t want to think too much about what she was doing.

She was a sophomore in college. She and her boyfriend were barely back together. They were across the country from each other. If she was pregnant, it would be a complete disaster.

She cried, letting out all of her emotions and fears and hopes. Then she swallowed the pill and went back to bed. Exhausted, she fell asleep. 

****

The first book that Jughead read from Betty’s list was not his style at all. Something about parenting your inner child, nurturing your past self in a way that your fucked up parents didn’t do. No thanks.

Four books into her list, Jughead found the one that felt like it had been written for him. It described the emotional fallout of having an alcoholic parent. Jughead nodded as he read; it was exactly the pile of issues that he had, things that had fucked up his relationship with Betty in the past, or weird tics he had like his difficulty with small talk and having people in his personal space. The author very clearly described each problem and then offered concrete solutions, point by point, on how to deal with it.

There was an entire section on communication in relationships. Jughead thought the book was so important that he returned the library copy and bought a copy used from Amazon. He highlighted pretty much the entire book.

He’d seen a sign up at the library for a support group and decided, despite his deep misgivings, to give it a shot. So, now his Tuesday evenings included an Adult Children of Alcoholics meeting. Jughead had been absolutely floored to walk into the first meeting and see that the leader of the group was Fred Andrews. There were a few other familiar faces, too. He felt like someone had thrown back a curtain; normal likable people had survived the same shit he had, and lived happy, successful lives. It gave him hope.

Hope was important. Parts of his new, post-Shankshaw life were very hard. His job at the _Register_ alternated between doing busywork to have something to do and being completely overwhelmed with deadlines. Jughead had received a raise right after Thanksgiving, which he suspected had more to do with his reunion with Betty than his aptitude for his job. He didn’t question it. His savings account was growing weekly in a very gratifying way.

Jughead lived for his Skype calls with Betty. It made him so happy, to see her face pop up on his computer screen. Her life at Stanford was insanely busy; he had no idea how he kept up with all her responsibilities and made time for him, too.

She sent him little care packages, too. He received really random packages from Amazon with things she’d selected for him. He got five pounds of cinnamon gummy bears one week. A huge jar of Nutella and a box of vanilla wafers were next. Socks with hamburgers on them and an electric blanket with the Scooby Doo characters in it.

The week before Christmas, Betty sent a box of sexy lingerie, a pair of edible underwear and a book of sexual positions. _“Save these for next week,”_ was the message on the enclosed card.

Jughead was more than ready for his girl to come home.

***

Betty’s schedule between Thanksgiving break and Christmas break was brutal. Every class piled on work, final papers and projects and exams. Her work ramped up too: apparently, people wanted to know whether or not their spouse was cheating before they settled in for Christmas together. So Betty was busy, insanely so.

She and Jughead spoke on Skype a few times a week. With her schedule so full, it was barely any time at all. He said he understood, but Betty felt really guilty. He deserved much more of her than he was getting.

It was the last day of finals and the second day of December when Betty woke up feeling weird. Her boobs hurt, a lot. That was pretty random.

Lainey was already up, doing her makeup at her desk. “Morning, Betty.”

“I feel like someone punched me in my tits last night,” Betty complained to her roommate.

Lainey looked over at her, one eyebrow raised. “Well, it definitely wasn’t me. I’m not the abusive type. Maybe your boob pain is PMS or your anxiety? Finals week is peak stress.”

“I’ve never had my anxiety make my boobs hurt. I don’t think that’s it.”

Betty’s boobs were so sore, in fact, that she couldn’t even wear her regular lace, underwire bra. She changed into her cotton sports bra. That hurt; it felt like it was smashing her boobs. So for the first time in her adult life, Betty just put on a camisole, pulled on a pair of overalls, and headed out in public braless. It made her incredibly self-conscious; she felt like everyone was looking at her chest. Her boobs were bouncing, but hopefully the overalls helped to hide that fact. There was nothing she could do about it.

Betty took her first final exam of the day and then headed to the student union for lunch. She passed by the salad bar, her usual, and headed for the grill.

“Can I have a cheeseburger and tater tots, please?” she asked the server.

Betty sat at a table and inhaled the burger. It was gone in four bites. She missed Jughead; she was clearly channeling her boyfriend.

As she left the cafeteria, a tall guy in a backpack brushed his arm across the front of her chest. The pain was so bad that she yelled “mother FUCKER, that hurt!” at high volume. A few heads swiveled to see what had happened.

“Oh my God, are you okay?” The tall guy put his hand on her arm, looking really concerned. “I’m so sorry.”

“That just really hurt.”

Something was wrong with her. A pulled muscle, maybe, or a sprain? Betty took the elevator up to the student health center and signed in. The waiting area was decorated in an insanely cheerful manner, with huge a mural of rainbows and puffy clouds. There were a few other people in the waiting area; one girl was holding her elbow awkwardly and looked like she was in serious pain.

The receptionist handed Betty a form to fill out. What was the reason for her visit? She wasn’t sure what to write. Finally she just wrote “pain.”

After a short wait, Betty was escorted to a generic looking examination room by a sweet faced Asian woman. The nurse asked her a ton of questions as Betty sat on a paper covered exam table. The nurse examined her, patting her breasts and Betty embarrassed herself by yelling a few more profanities. “I’m so sorry,” she said, blushing. “It just really hurts.”

“It’s fine,” the nurse said with a kindly smile. “I’ve heard a lot worse.”

She was instructed to take a cup into the bathroom and leave a urine sample. She returned to the exam room afterward and waited.

The nurse came back in. “You are pregnant, Miss Cooper.”

Betty’s jaw dropped open. “What?”

“I’m sorry if this is not welcome news, but you are pregnant.”

“But that’s not possible,” Betty protested. “I had unprotected sex, by accident, but I took Plan B!” 

“How soon after sex did you take the Plan B?” the nurse asked.

Betty thought back. “Five days?”

“It is most effective within the first three days,” said the nurse. “So I’m afraid that you missed that window.”

Betty’s mind reeled. “So what do I do now?”

“At this point, the pregnancy can be terminated very easily,” said the nurse. “We can give you a pill now to begin the process. You will need to take another pill in six to forty-eight hours to complete the abortion.”

“No.” Betty’s first thought was absolutely not. She was not willing to have an abortion; it just didn’t feel right to her.

“You can terminate your pregnancy with a chemical abortion at up to ten weeks,” said the nurse. “You can take your time to decide. After ten weeks, you will need to have a surgical procedure to end the pregnancy.”

Betty tried to imagine what that would be like and didn’t even want to think about it. “What do I need to do at this point for a healthy pregnancy?” Betty asked. “Could the Plan B that I took do anything to hurt my baby?”

“The Plan B didn’t work because the pregnancy had already occurred,” the nurse explained. “The fetus would not have been harmed in any way.”

“What do I need to do next?” Betty asked. “For a healthy baby?”

“You should begin taking a good quality prenatal vitamin,” said the nurse, “and schedule an appointment with an OB/GYN to begin your prenatal care. We don’t do that here, but we can refer you to an OB/GYN at Stanford Hospital.”

The nurse gave Betty a handful of brochures and fliers, giving her options, and Betty tucked them into her backpack. She left the health services office and walked out onto the quad, her mind racing.

She’d missed her period and hadn’t noticed. Things had been so busy, gearing up for her finals, that she hadn’t really been paying attention. How could she be pregnant? Surely God wouldn’t be that cruel, that she would get knocked up the first time she and Jughead had made love after all their time apart. The timing could not be worse.

Everything about this situation was too overwhelming. Betty still had an exam to take this afternoon. She decided to put all of her energy into that. She found solace in her routine. She went to the library to do her review for Statistics. She lost herself in reviewing the information, knowing that she was well prepared. Confident, she went to her exam. She knew, as she was taking it, that she had aced it. She was the first one to turn in her exam book.

She walked across campus. Betty loved the fact that it was mid-December and she didn’t even really need the light jean jacket that she was wearing. She loved the campus: the stucco buildings and red tile roofs, the palm trees, the casual vibe of all the students. It was as different from Riverdale as possible and she loved it all the more because of that.

Was she really pregnant? It didn’t seem real. It didn’t seem possible. She needed more data to confirm this before she could accept it.

Just past the edge of campus there was a large chain drugstore. Betty stood in front of the pregnancy test display. The ones with the fancy readouts were really expensive. Did they work better than the cheaper ones? She read the fine print and yes, some of them were early detection.

She bought two of them and a large bottle of orange juice. As she walked across campus towards the Fine Arts library, she chugged the bottle of juice. The top floor, dedicated to large art folios and special collections, had a one stall unisex bathroom. It was a very popular hookup spot. Thankfully, it was empty.

Betty went into the bathroom, read the instructions, and peed on both sticks. Within ten minutes, she had two tests. In a little bubble in the middle, they both said the same thing.

Pregnant.

Betty sighed deeply. Her denial bubble had carried her though her exams. She was grateful for that. Now, she needed to deal with the situation.

The nurse had made it sound so easy: just take a couple of pills and terminate the pregnancy. This didn’t have to derail her life. She could do it privately, quietly. No one would ever know. No one needed to know. But she would know.

Betty wasn’t willing to consider that option. She’d felt guilty enough taking the Plan B without telling Jughead and it had only been a theoretical baby at that point. Now, when she was actually carrying Jughead’s child...well the timing was complete shit, but it was part of them- part of him and part of her- and she couldn’t get rid of it. She was going to have their baby.

Jughead needed to know. He was the baby’s father, after all. Betty was pregnant with Jughead’s baby. This was not how she’d envisioned this moment. In her daydreams, they were both older and established and blissfully happy to start their family together as everything in their lives clicked into place. But that had never been her life. Either of their lives.

Betty was mostly worried about Jughead’s reaction. When things went wrong, he panicked. He made really stupid decisions. He shut her out; pushed her away. What the hell would he do when she told him about this? He’d been doing so much better. Betty covered her face with her hands and started to cry. She wanted someone to tell her that she was loved, that she was supported, that things would be okay.

She hoped and prayed that all the progress Jughead had been making to feel worthy to be with her wasn’t set back by this news. She wasn’t sure whether she could be the strong one right now. She needed him to be strong too.

****

The week before Christmas, very early Friday morning, Jughead’s phone rang. He woke up and sleepily grabbed it.

“Juggie, it’s Betty.” Her voice sounded choked, weird.

He sat up, rubbing his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

She didn’t answer; instead he listened to her sob. He was scared; something was horribly wrong. Had someone died?

“Baby, what’s going on?”

She took a deep breath. “Jug, I’m pregnant. I got pregnant when we were together over Thanksgiving.”

“Wait, what?” Betty was having his baby? She cried again, and the sound of her misery cut into his heart. “Betty, sweetheart. Please talk to me.”

She took a deep, snuffling breath. “I screwed up. We had unprotected sex and that was totally my fault.”

“There were two of us involved, Betty, I should have thought about protection and I didn’t.” He’d been a complete idiot.

“I’m such a moron.” She sobbed, crying hard. 

“Betty, talk to me. We can figure this out. It will all be okay. You’ll be home tomorrow, right? We can talk in person and figure out what to do.”

“I know that an unplanned pregnancy is the last thing you want to deal with right now.” Betty sniffled. “But we both need to deal with the consequences of that night. Jug, I’m so sorry.” 

“Betty, I love you,” Jughead said softly. “I wish I could hold you in my arms right now and make you feel better.”

“I love you too,” said Betty. “Jughead, I love you so much. I don’t want to ruin your life.” 

“Betty, that’s not possible,” Jughead assured her. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. We’re going to figure this out.”

Betty began crying again. Jughead felt completely useless. He knew that he’d never get over this, ever, how badly he had fucked up and hurt Betty, once again.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are appreciated :)
> 
> Special thanks to jandsalmon, beta reader for this entire series. 
> 
> Enjoy the fic playlist on Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/user/kfozj5yiiap68fl6fkuqma2uq/playlist/39OuC3pGETKtXJ0Z0yNk6i?si=5VQHa6ItQ9uTY7NnHGqGqw


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